so she was outside on her lawn,

stumbling and almost collapsing,

and i noticed her uncombed hair.

i knew she was still on heroin.

the appropriate thing maybe

would have been to stop and say

i'll take you to a meeting,

i've almost got seven years dear.

but i was mad at her.

when i spilled my guts in that

basement room full of recovering everybodies

she made me feel guilty.

she told me to stand up to temptation

and let the drunks have their liquor.

i was going to be a sober girl now.

i had believed her.

i had fought against it because of her.

seven years later

i was watching her fall

into the trap i had,

and disturbingly,

into her son's car.

a woman in recovery never needs reminder

that another one has been weak.

i let her needled arms swing

as i drove away.

2003-08-21, 1:43 a.m.
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