I know I don’t like pinot

but Maureen always lets me try a sip of her wine anyways.

Catherine hugs as if she’s trying to hold

all your broken pieces back together

The chips taste better when they’re shared. The beer

tastes better out of someone else’s cup.
Emily’s voice always climbs louder and louder as the night goes on

her laughter expanding into every corner of the house.

When Samantha drinks she doodles her name

across anything she can find in big swirling letters:

Kleenex boxes, the pizza menu, all your bills.

​

It’s been fourteen months and eleven days

​

and I’m starting to crave pinot.

All the beer tastes bitter. All the chips cut at the roof of my mouth

get stuck in my throat.

I dream that I try to call someone on the phone,

but I open my mouth and all my teeth clatter out.

I reach for the front door but my arms pop off and float away.

 

I wake to a quiet house and dampness on my cheeks.

I reach for the Kleenex box and it’s right where I left it.