This Life-Long Fast
Just saw a headline
in the Huffington Post.
Winter Cocktails Gone Wild.
And I am choked
by my longing. I can’t explain it
easily, but I’ll try. I still crave alcohol. Not
in the way
you might think. Infrequently. And not when
or where you might expect.
I go to church in a bar, but that only reminds me
of my gratitude
and drives deeper into God. My
humiliation is my heartfelt cry
There, my worship. Inside, every Sunday
I am on my knees.
[Dare I say
lest I tempt fate] I am not tempted
to break this life-long fast I have taken. Yes.
I can say that and mean it. I do not feel
like I need alcohol but it still
charms me. I think I want it. Especially if I linger
with the thoughts that whisper to me.
Drinking is about
the moments, about intimacy
and good conversation. The idea
of being cultured,
intellectual and refined. All those remembered
moments swirl in my mind.
The Liar brandishes his greatest weapon, uttering:
“That is what you’re missing.”
And I find myself thinking
Then immediately — I don’t even
have to force it, the list of reasons come for
why I will
not ever = never
They come. The list my counselor made me
so painstakingly write on a 3×5 card
(so that I would never forget.) Oh, I won’t
Memory brings it
and I remember
the regrets (so many),
the sink hole of depression and anxiety,
No I don’t easily forget
Alcohol, that sweet elixir
was my personal hell. Oh no, the truth
is so fresh and real as if
I quit yesterday.
And soberly and gingerly, I consider
how far I have come.