N.

Badass, and my friend.

Okay.

There are beautiful,
and, happy making,
days ahead.

Thank you, sisters.

Thank you, family.
Thank you, friends,
new and old.

Thank you,
A.

Thank you,
N., forever,
B.,
T.

Thank you,
K.,
K.,
C.,
Mrs. L.

Thank you,
women.

Thank you,
depression and hope,
in equal parts.
Thank you, God,
whoever you are.
Thank you,
hands and eyes.
Thank you,
heart.
Thank you, fear,
and courage.
Thank you,
tears.

I am riding this one,
down, to the end of the line.

B.

Like thunder, like the laughing of children,
we rolled down grass hill, the whiskey,
the cold, numbing our skin to the burs
that clung to our palms and fingers.

Lie down in gravel roads.
Moon illuminate our happy scratches.

We are in the club
of us.

Forever, you remind me,
put body to grass,
roll down hills.

And I'm so glad you are doing better.

And someday I will
see you there.
And you will know me,
by my head held high,
and on my arm
the scarlet letter,
that I will wear.

The Sun Also Rises.

Today, sweet today,
I began again.

Blown out candles.

Today, I am thirty and seven years.

I have made, and drunk, cups of espresso,
eating the chocolate left on my front step
by a sweet friend.

I stood under scalding water until God in my
ear said, let's go, Buddy.

I mount my bicycle. The sun says hi.

The weather report said cloudy, cold: it was not.
God, for my favorite present, gave me sunshine.
My sister stayed at my side the whole day.

Friends called and talked for hours.
The piano open. Guitar.

Whiskey poured into me.

Beautiful girls gave me scarves,
flowers. Hugs and dancing.
Whiskeys.

Dancing.
Dancing.

Bike home to warm cats.
Kisses.

Birthday, thank you.

The healing things.

I've begun to eat again,
and to paint, and draw,
and write songs.
Dance.

On the mend.