Habit

*


You remembered cigarettes

after the names for things were gone,

you still had the two fingered gesture,

although you couldn’t light it or lift it to your mouth.

The hospital let it go, in certain cases.



You clung like an injured mountain climber

gripping a ledge halfway down the face,

too weak to scale your way back up,

and nothing to ease you down.

No help coming,

couldn’t reach you if it was,

although everyone said

“Expect miracles.”

and they paraphrased

that bible verse about

the faith of a mustard seed

moving mountains.

And I thought, move it all you like,


it’s still the same mountain.

But looking at you,

a painted skeleton, minus teeth

I did expect a miracle.

I asked whatever it is that listens

to prayers and pleadings

that you would notice your fingers

still clutching the shelf out of habit,

and tell them this once to let go.


                                         -Brent Allard

Just Before the Sky Fell Down

*





She twirled in the Santa Ana winds

like a satellite finding its orbit in the driveway.

The Eagles Greatest Hits played for the fifth time in a row

because letting it play was easier than finding another album

that everyone drinking could tolerate.

She really liked singing along to Desperado.

You felt indestructible, even knowing that when reality

returned, the woman you watched would be someone else’s wife.

But it could wait. Let it wait. Let it hang there like the moon.

No need to even mention it.



You couldn’t blame the alcohol, because you drank

yourself sober long before, and can’t pretend

you didn’t know what was coming, when she stepped back

inside, the wind still whispering around her, remarked that

the stars had brought you here, and then looked in your eyes,

and said oh so seriously, that infidelity isn’t a problem

but a symptom of a problem,

and you, of course, agreed.

 
              
                              -Brent Allard