TRAINS
TWENTY-SIX DAYS SOBER
from the hills of Silverlake,
I had to abruptly change my living situation.
​
Still detoxing, angry, sweaty, tired, thirsty,
the mess that was me was too much to handle.
​
"I'm not cut out for this" were his exact words.
I cried for seven minutes, purchased 10 mid size boxes, packed, got a truck.
​
June 14th, I called my father's sister.
"Yes, you can stay here until we sell the house. There is an empty bedroom waiting for you."
​
There was definitely more light here...
It took a few breaths, but I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I remember the countless chats with my aunt, deep, light-hearted, enlightening, painful, as she smoked her
BENSON & HEDGES
whose second-hand smoke I gladly and nostalgically inhaled.
​
I remember staring out of the glass sliding doors every morning as I laid in bed,
pausing in the stillness,
not knowing in which direction to go,
IN AN UNFAMILIAR BODY, IN AN UNFAMILIAR LIFE.
​
At night those doors remained open
with only a screen between me and the city, and the sounds of the trains...
​
ALWAYS THE TRAINS.
The sound of these comforting and reassuring,
and filled with memories of home
and loved ones lost.
​
​
