When Alcohol Was Not Your Mother

[Medusafern]

Poem for Terry McGovern


Laid down in the snow and you let go ~
left your skin in one last swallow,
one last cry, one last memory of a time
when alcohol was not your mother,
when you could hold yourself
all night long, and not once feel alone.

Strange, how years disappear.
How love fails us, haunts us,
how lost children live within us,
always crying, always wanting mother,
and we cannot blot out their voices.
Always these babies trying to call us back.
And how long do we listen?
How long do we promise them,
before we just don't hear them anymore?

Terry, tell me how to find that snowbank.
Tell me how it feels to collapse
on a cold night, to lay your coat aside,
and clutch the peace within the glass.
Tell me it doesn't hurt
when the last breath turns white
and travels to the sky.


Hillary Hays
1994

[lizzytysh]

Dear Hillary ~

The poignancy in your writing, your descriptions of the realities within us, and your questions are as worthwhile, as they are uniquely rendered. The intensities remain tenderly explored and unexploited.

Sincerely,
Lizzy

[Joe Way]

Dear Hillary,

Did you know Terry? I met her mother and father when they came to dedicate the center for her. My wife and I had our first date on the night her father ran for President. I started to tell them the story and her mother walked away thinking I would be another hanger-on to his fleeting fame; when she heard the context she walked back eager to hear the human details, grateful for the happy ending.

I haven't had time to read much of what you've written, but I'll try soon.

Joe

[Medusafern]

Dear Joe,

I'm sad to say I did not know Terry McGovern, although I met her once, at a Detox facility. I was there sober that time, attending an A.A. meeting. She was there for treatment. I remember offering her a small smile of understanding. I think I mumbled, "I've been where you are..." The pain in her eyes was like a reflection of my own.

Her death hit me pretty hard, as do all deaths from the disease of alcoholism. And I had been struggling myself, wanting to give up the fight. When I learned that she'd died in that snowbank I went and read a bit about her life. I guess I wished it had been me who'd perished. Evenstill, in later years, I wanted to write Pt. 2. I wanted to tell the story of her courage, her triumphs. I have not written that poem yet. I hope I do someday. Thanks for your reply, Joe.

Sincerely,
Hillary

[Critic2]

Hilalry, this is excellent. Thanks for sharing!

[Medusafern]

Thanks, C2, for your praise and for taking the time to read me. I had thought this was one of my weaker poems, but often people seem to like it. Cool

Hillary