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. 

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