The Enabler

Another dark corner...not my own...not alone

The Enabler

You slowly pass into a thick sleep

still slouched in the corner of the sofa,

the arm rest your only support

Your hand still gripping the shiny can

that slurred words moments ago labeled half empty

rational thoughts see that there’s something in the room even more empty

than that flimsy, aluminum security blanket

but rational isn’t welcome in hours that are supposed to be happy

Succumbing to the cushy setting and no doubt the intoxication

your hand lets loose the can that falls heavy with a mechanical thud

spilling gold fluid across the rustic wood floor

resembling the foamy ocean rolling up the shoreline

in the regal rise and fall of sunlight

Thin, white linen dishtowels sop up the spill

while small, pale hands toss the evidence

of another lost night of unappreciated babysitting

into the deep hole of a musty, mildew speckled sink

The two sizes too small down comforter is draped over your body

and the only light that could be shed on the event is burned out

The blue and white flicker of the late night programming frames your place in our home burning the impression on the whitewashed walls

that look like sun print paper from a distant, possibly happy, childhood memory

Watching through the rungs of the banister

I see just how imprisoned you are in the illness

and how guilty I am as the enabler

Sleep seems to be the right thing to do

a few hours lost in dreams

and the whirling black silence of the cold, lonely mathematical bed designed for two

but you’ve subtracted the one

Tomorrow we can talk of the future and the facts and the reality

and attempt to dig ourselves out of the ever growing hole

that always steals and swallows my words before I can get them to you

Maybe it will be different and we can be different

and step outside together holding each’s hand

rather than me going it alone

holding onto hope and a cold, weathered iron railing

blistered with rusty, rigid pox

Maybe you will make it to our bed

or at least our bedroom floor

so we can share one night out of 365 in the company of each other

Or maybe, at least for once, you could see me through sober eyes

and realize we haven’t got a chance in hell

if all I am is lost in all you're not

E.A. O’Connell