An intentionally placed
hallelujah won’t raise the tides
to quench a jaundiced sky;
no more do I feel less
spiritually waterlogged for
the wine. I remember,
the time;
the time;
the time.
I remember so much, and
for the less forgotten; how
could I lose track, but still
conflate years and minutes.
I am——beleaguered, labored,
with words like how, why, and
what the hell, mostly in relation
to these other words: my and life.
Weary, basking in distant
supplication, I ascribe to your
lingering attention:
You’ll be alright.
These fires are mine to fuel.
caroline ridgway 