That first sip of liquor
nibble of cake
bead of blood under the sharp blade
is our remembering.
Remembering
that first time
we belonged; we were perfect; we had a modicum of control.
That first sip of liquor
nibble of cake
bead of blood under the sharp blade
is our forgetting.
Forgetting
that we hover on the periphery,
flawed and powerless.
The second sip,
the second bite,
the blood sluicing,
is our punishment,
our loathing,
our attempt at escape.
We do not see
that we do belong
to ourselves
to the world
that we are every wild glimmer of forefathers and mothers,
the stars, the mountains, the bees.
So we sip and chew and cut (and more),
receding into the ether that was once us,
that was once love,
only to awaken,
with a renewed sense of failure
that we are NOT
those who belong
those who are perfect
those who command.
We are the cast-offs,
clasping meager suitcases, crestfallen,
while the golden ones, in their gleaming gilded chariots,
depart for greener pastures,
smiling.
And so we crumble into nothingness,
hidden amongst the din
of the multitudes that are not us
and sip and bite and cut anew.
Colleen Sohn
...
Alternate title – “After Watching Too Much Mad Men“
