The Summit

Our breath lingers

in front of our faces

as we exhale

the mountain air

and look down

at the powder dusted valley.

Floating in the moment

between dangers passed

and the descent to come,

we laugh at our fear

of slipping and falling,

of being left alone

without the other.

Mother

At dinner

at her daughter’s house,

she forces a smile,

but her darting eyes

give her away.

Her skin is screaming,

her eyes itching.

With a hot flash

of adrenaline,

the leading trail of detox

washes over her.

She needs her wine,

but she can’t drink

around her ex-husband.

He told her

they were both alcoholics,

and now she must feign

she’s not.

But it’s beyond that.

Everyone sees the nerve

damage,

the awkward walking,

the poor balance, drunk or sober.

She avoids

social affairs unless

there’s wine

available

and she’s accompanied

by others who won’t say

anything

about her drinking

because they don’t want

anyone to say

anything

about their own.

When dinner

is over

she leaves

abruptly,

and her anxiety

wanes

now that her first sip

of wine

is just a short trip

away

and she wishes

she could’ve stayed

longer.