Rebekah Denison Hewitt For the Sake of Solidarity

you said you wouldn't drink until the baby is born,
but the white wine squats in the metal cooler, water beading on the bottle
& do you realize that "sake" is spelled the same as sake—which I first had
when I was twenty & it burned my throat like whiskey in Nashville,
when Josh ordered drinks as everyone decided to go, so
the whiskey went bottoms up too quick off the bar's barrel top.
Danny said that was when I was fun. Before babies
is what he meant. I wanted to do yoga today then got caught up
on Facebook, & a friend of a friend's pictures of Pisa,
you know, supporting the leaning tower with her fake boobs and her pretty
husband. I got jealous, remembering the bartender
setting Sambuca on fire in Italy, remembering
it will be a long time before Italy again because the time change
with a baby and a toddler I can barely leave for a day,
but everyone knows you can love something too much
or wrongly. Isn't that what all those stalker movies are about? And dying,
I am dying the way we all are dying, you are dying in this moment closer
than the moment before & I keep thinking we should go to Bandon
because the Pacific is still carving boulders in the sea & our sons
would catch crabs & pick the meat out of their claws & our hair
would smell like salt & don't you realize sometimes children
die and there's no way to stop that, there is no burn in my throat, there is
a baby in my body, my tongue is burning & don't you realize fire and water are the same are the same happening this moment.


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