Cloudy morning. Cloudy memory. What
did she murmur before she left? Something
about drowning. Yeah. Being bound to slats
of our bed and drowning in the storm. Sting
of my glare, she said. I know all about
drowning, I said. Then she closed the door. I
know my fear scars you, I wanted to shout.
I know my binges drag you under. Why
can’t I stop? Listen, I promise you. This
time I’ll pour it out and toss the bottle.
This time I’ll show up for dinner. I’ll kiss
you, hand you flowers. Care for your brittle
heart instead of sneaking away to play
around...Yeah. I’d have said that, if she’d stayed.
Roger Armbrust
October 11, 2009
