I had been sober for
awhile and was getting that
itch to drink.
I couldn't recall the
degradation and misery of
the last drunk a few months
earlier.

It was spring, and I was standing
outside of the flophouse, I was
staying at.
Just then, a big sunflower of
a woman walked by.
"Hi Jenny," I said.
We had a past.
Not much of one though.
It resembled a Dali painting that
had been soaking in the rain.

We ended up in a motel with a
bottle of Absinthe.
Jenny wasn't much of a drinker,
No problem, more for me.
Jenny wasn't much of a
conversationalist, and half-lit on
robust *****, neither was I.
I walked around the room talking
about Hemingway and Van Gogh,
Fitzgerald and Picasso.
Jenny wasn't interested in them.
She wanted me to score her some dope.

She said, "If you want this *****, you
will buy me an eight ball."
I didn't.
I wanted to write, but I was too drunk.
We wanted different things and neither
of us
found them that night.
And later at about 3 am when I got
up to ****, I could have sworn I saw the
picture of Van Gogh on the box of Absinthe
laughing.

There we are
Bundles of thoughts and nerves
We plan and script
Burn the midnight oil
Charting paths and mapping
Defining destinations
But then, life happens

And it will

I suppose I could brood
And close tired eyes
Or I could lasso a cloud
And hitch a ride to paradise

The old man
drifted into memories—
technicolour visions
of a young farmhand,
naked to the waist.

Sweat added a glossy shine
to an already impressive torso.
Mary, the land owner's daughter,
gazed longingly at her fancy,
then approached, offering
homemade lemonade.

He nodded thanks,
drinking the glass down
into his empty,
thirsting stomach.
They both smiled.

Slipping from the memory,
the old man
closed his eyes,
took a final breath,

and then
once again —
tasted lemonade.

I go back in time
as I get a whiff of some familiar scent.

Like the aroma of spices from my mother’s pulao —- the blend of bay leaves, cinnamon, black cardamom and cloves
that left eyes sparkling in anticipation of a royal meal.

Or the scent of fruits
that made their way into my lunch at school - bananas, apples, grapes, oranges
along with an embroidered napkin
that held onto the smell of the season, the love of parents and the comfort of home.

The tanginess of lemons in my father’s cologne —- a burst of summer every time I opened his closet.

The fragrance of roses from incense sticks that my grandmother would light as she prayed —
the mysticism of life in her folded hands.
The smoke would rise from the sticks, curling, to reach heaven along with her prayers -
and I would look upward wondering if God could hear her songs and smell the roses.

The heady scent of rain and earth as we played in puddles
walking and slipping
splashing and laughing
lost in the moment
hearts as light as those drops of rain.

A whiff of these and I travel back in time
I miss the innocence
and melange of those
happy scents and aromas.

It seems like a different world.
And though far away —
It seems like yesterday.

The stranger is no longer there
but now familiar brown eyes and soul to bare
He came back home a new man for me
So glad the stranger I no longer see

Now he doesn't want to take me down
but let's me be the queen I am and wear my crown

Now he brings light love and hope
and no longer uses alcohol to cope

No longer the liar I use to know
No longer the stranger with fear and woe

So glad the stranger is gone
now my husband is back with me at home
No longer is he a stranger to me
So glad the stranger I no longer see

In the afterglow of your beautiful loving heart
lives a flower that blooms each and every day
Planted deep within, you are the great thou art
of my living soul's reveal, you are the way !

Dazzling me with brightness and effulgence
you are a glowing candle in the thick of night
With luminosity you touch on my resurgence
helping me revive, a long lost dormant light;

You are a gleam, a glint, a polished diamond stud
an opalescent being who grants prismatic hues
Seeded in your garden I know that I am loved
above all else, ... and it is I that you did choose

You are the afterglow of love's most precious gift,
the bridge across forever, that never goes adrift.