it seems my entire life is defined by drinks.

mother's milk out the womb.

(and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.)

an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice?

(orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.)

the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands.

(i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.)

yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water.

today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water.

i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises.

last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me.

last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked.

when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs.

i still miss the apple cider they made there.

my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work.

Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.

Evergreen stands
still at the hearth.
Roaring red fire,
life, love and mirth.

Laughter and joy.
Cider's sweet mash.
Dull fire's embers;
glowing orange ash.

We retreat to our beds,
nestled and warm,
and dream of the morning
when the Christ child was born.

Lights festooned,
on the bushes outside;
filter in through the window,
glimmer and shine.

We long for the hour
when we flock to the tree.
Peppermint, tinsel,
ribbons, and glee.

The winds of change are coming soon.
You can already see them starting to affect the moon.
The winds of change make the days shorter and nights colder.
Not that that's a bad thing.
It can make people want to be closer than shoulder to shoulder.
To the trees, the winds of change are like school bus drivers.
the breeze carries their leaves away, drops them safely on the ground, then returns them bright and new when spring rolls back around.
Change can be scary. But not all change is bad.
Just think of the pumpkins and cider and good times to be had.

Fall is for color
Bounty and splendor
Spring is renewal
But fall toasts
The future

Nature’s own blossoming
In earth tones that
Shatter the rainbow
With rock solid
Treasure to last
The year

Harvest *****
October fests
Foodie’s delight
Magnificent moments
For taste buds
In sight

Fall holds a promise
Crisp air to breathe
That cleanses the lungs
And erases the lethargy
Of summer’s heat

Thanksgiving to all
Mother Nature raises
Her glass
Mulled cider and cinnamon
Roast turkey and corn
Remember the season
Of color and bounty
Remember fall
Throughout
The year

We drank cider
And filled our faces
With cheesecake that tasted
Almost as tangy as the blood
That fizzed through (and out) of my veins
As a consequence of you.
And I thought to myself,
The sunlight will always be golden
But I will never again smell cigarette smoke
And think of anyone other than you
With your stupid hyperbolic smile
And if I can't see the way eight pm
Looks beneath your lashes
Or the way the summer hours
Turn your hair into auburn fire
Then I may as well bury my eyes
In the soil that hasn't yet
Managed to kiss your feet.

Doctor Larch peers out the window,
Pulling aside brocaded curtains to hide
The grief that he will not show,
The rending emptiness he feels inside.

As his son Homer rides past the sunset,
Not knowing where he goes
But aspiring to see the wide world,
The ocean at Mount Desert,
Seeing wonder in the expanse
And worlds inside a circle of glass.

He has taken with him his heart,
A dark picture of frailty.
He finds unexpected work in an orchard,
Leisurely harvesting round, garnet jewels.
The nomads, dark and wary,
Ask him to read about death and stars.

There are rules for the workers.
And Homer finds that they apply
To no one, neither nomads or
Curious young men.
He sees in the errant father
The reflection of his own,
The man who made him good.
“You are my work of art”
He wrote.

Like an artist with his painting,
Who resists giving it away,
So Doctor Larch holds on to him
Hoping his adolescence ends
And he returns.
Finding peace at the last.

The lack of rules bring about a sea change,
Allowing forbidden love and pain.
He ventures out once more into the vacuum
Of conscience set free,
He devises his own rules about the womb
And how to help those in agony
But eventually…

With all the rules now open,
There is nothing left for him to do.
So he boards the migrant truck
Just as the pilot returns, broken.
He watches the struggle with a wheelchair
Sees his lover watch him with her yellow hair
Knows her future, years of sacrifice.
And he admits at last
That he has a purpose,

The train to St. Cloud huffs slowly away,
With Homer standing in the wet snow.
There is the old asylum,
The orphanage and home on the hill,
Almost black, with the sunset behind,
Homer begins the long climb.
He approaches slowly.

But then, a burst of laughter
And children from the door
Flock around him, dancing, shrieking,
Some holding him like an errant dog,
Who must be told to stay.
“Will you stay?” they ask.
“I think so,” he smiles in irony.
He is home at the last.

i walked past the wine aisle today
pretending to be grown up
as i saw rows upon rose
and expensive wines infused with
notes of exotic fruits
and smooth whiskeys, cool beers and
cheap *****

i almost walked right past it
a blur of artificial pink and green
in the corner of my eye
i had the sudden urge to linger
for a little bit longer

on that strawberry and lime cider.

"hey you'll like this"
you offered me a sip of your
cup and suddenly i was
hooked

it's too easy to
imagine the exact taste
as it bubbles on my tongue, tingling, and making
it's way down my
parched throat

easy to swallow and
a delight going down
especially perfect during
a night out
in town

though it will never quite
taste as lovely
as when i sipped it
from your
lips

sweeter than sweet
a sensation reminiscent of,
swirling, dancing
twirling along my tongue,

the most heavenly cocktail
of you and
my new favourite drink

and suddenly,

strawberries in season,
remind me of you
as you held me close
and we missed the sun rise

limes suddenly
remind me of you
as you let go and left
only sourness behind

i never liked cider until
you brought the taste to
my lips

and suddenly,

i wanted to drown in it

but then you taught me, that
like most alcohol it's
best served cold with
eyes that look past me
and frozen strawberries

a fizzy concoction of
regret and enjoyment and
longing and excitement
and
regret

hard spirits and expensive liquor
just cannot compare to
the sweet and sour high
from a bottle of
strawberry and lime

but imagine my surprise
the first time after
you left
when i discovered that
suddenly
even something so pleasant
could have such a bitter
aftertaste

and i'm left wondering
how much longer
will your memory cling
to a branded bottle
of my old favourite drink.