I met her on the Iowa River
when the water was moving
and neither of us knew
where we were going.
Lost as a dead carp.
We didn’t have much in common.
She liked to drink.
I liked to drink.
She liked sex.
So did I.
That was enough
for a while.
She stole things.
Makeup.
Little figurines.
Stupid things
she didn’t need.
I stole wine.
Mornings shook without it.
Maybe we were both
trying to take something
that would make the night
last longer.
We drank until
the edges disappeared.
We fucked
and called it closeness.
Doogy-style madness.
We woke up
and did it again.
There were no conversations
about the future.
No plans.
Just bottles.
Beds.
Rivers.
Another night.
I don’t remember
when I realized
we weren’t building anything.
Maybe neither of us
was capable of building
anything then.
We were taking.
Taking from each other.
Taking from ourselves.
Taking whatever
we could get our hands on.
Eventually
the river kept moving
and we didn’t.
It ended.
And I went back
to the hospital
for another round of detox.
She had her makeup.
Her little figurines.
Her vibrating silliness.
I had another empty bottle
and a plastic wristband
around my arm.
Funny thing about rivers.
They keep going.
Even when you don’t.
hello dearest Thomas this is really great and true I am clean from speed after a four year run and I never had any days clean during that period… a lot of feelings are rushing me… I got clean because I have to have serious surgery… I hope I can maintain it later… you give me courage ❤️
I am sober 4 years now, and it’s a better life than I could have imagined. You can do it. Thank you.