Sobreity

by Leah L. Cole

I am the only sober one here.
And the only one not paired off.
I sit, therefore, on the back poch,
Grateful that no one needs a smoke.
I have been here long enough to chill my hands
But the tears run hot on my face.
Her is here. His drunken exuberance is like
A tongue in a lost-tooth space.
The ache of not writing is torn open by the flood he causes.

I visit again the cold cement wall
Behind the roller rink. My first kiss
Rather jucier than I imagined and tasting of smoke
And (I think) he touched my breast.
Funny how ending a relationship then
Was as simple as not calling for a month
Instead, I have grown to welcome time between his visits.
Even though I want nothing more than to see him again.
This is the most painful bliss that I have ever felt.

He says, "I hate to see you and her this way.
You were so close.
And I love her like a sister, you know."
My best friend restored to me
Then ripped away by his lust for her.
     (Is that what loving her like a sister means?)
It underlines the gap between us.
He asks me a question intended to regale me
With memories of before
We hug briefly and I feel a stab behind my brain
When everyone does a shot of auld lang sine
I will not be able to stop up my emotion behind my serene face
They are celebrating leaving
I am mourning those already gone.
They drink to wash away the unknown.
I stay sober to savor my pains
The ache in my icy hands has spread to my shoulder blades.
If it is sharp, maybe I can control it.
If I can control it,
I can move on.

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