And losing you
I’ve never seen you drunk like this before, dear Brother.
It must be ever so painful for you, I think as I watch
you try to steady yourself and make your way across
the room holding on to sofa and chairs to give yourself
support and a semblance of control. You came to see
me, your older sister, and already the accusations fly,
with every little comment I make about your weight loss,
your health. I enquire where you sleep at night, “on the bus,”
your sardonic answer. I can’t but help my worried look.
“Stop staring at me with such contempt”, I’ve never heard
you so angry like this before. “It’s only my concern” I reply,
avoiding the word, “pity,” of which you’ve had enough.
You once so handsome and still intelligent man, the cynicism
oozing out of your every pore with each swig from the drink
you’ve brought with you, and camouflaged in the bottle
of Coke for upkeep’s sake. I calm you down and tell you
how much I care and love you and I have finally accepted
your embracement of your alcoholism, and that’s ok.
“I just don’t want you to die,” is all I can say.