My relationship with alcohol
has had its ups and downs.
The biggest problem being
I always want another round.

And there always seems a reason
to pour that one drink more:
Relax, escape, excitement
or “when life is such a bore.” *

Some Help to dull the edges
Some Thing to pick me up,
a Balm to sooth frayed nerves.
Flow forth, fermented cup.

We were pals for years and years,
my precious alcohol … my friend.
A Lenten fast, a pregnant break,
and we were back together again.

But for me, those days of drinking
began to take their toll.
And I began to make a plan
For a different way to roll.

Ye gads! Who knew
how hard it would be
to put that plan in motion?
Start. Stop. Succeed. Fail. One year turned into three.

But then that last drink did go down.
Truth be told, it was like any other.
A battlefield general at war for some time,
I knew one casualty could follow another.

But as one more day passed
and bottles stayed on the shelf,
I learned the hard part of stopping
is your relation with your Self.

No more good-time Kathy.
So hard, the letting go.
Good-bye, antidote for anything.
Hello, life felt blow by blow.

The last drink, the closing chapter
Where they a flower I didn’t savor?
Sometimes I wish I had,
but now I’m tasting many new flavors.