Happy Tuesday, everyone! Thank you for joining us for our next edition of WRB’s The Curve. This week, we have joining us Kimberly Casey, with her poem, “I Didn’t Know I Was Drunk.” Thank you, Kimberly, for joining us, and thanks to all of you for the read.

 

I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS DRUNK

        Once a boy led me to water
                 While I was thirsting for
                 Only unlit gasoline
                 And so, I drowned him
                 In his well-meant ocean
                 regret to repent

        I did not learn how to be
                 Gentle to things
                 That are not damaged

        Saving my grace for bathroom
                 Tile, moments when
                 Kindness will assuredly
                 Be forgotten
                 Once morning breaks
                 And this sick dries to
                 Gutters of grout

        Creating a competition to drown
                 Everything I have ever loved
                 With raw ethanol, pick
                 And gnaw on the slick rim of want

        Once a blue bird sang a family secret
                 So I caged her in my mouth
                 Mastication quaking

        This trembling jaw, all teeth
                 Kneading feathers to mulch
                 To swallow comfortably

        A consumption of the gentle things
                 Try to stop tasting rust
                 On all that this tongue cradles
                 Become what I eat

        Once a cadaver begged me for love
                 So I caved, crawled inside
                 Our blacked-out body bag

        Became a tremoring surgeon
                 Scalpel seeking new seams
                 To tear then name tragedy

        I loved you once—loved
                 To blame you then forgive you
                 Kept putting keys to ignition
                 Three times on the last
                 Erased night, dragged by the hair
                 From a dead-beat drivers seat
                 Dreaming for the freedom
                 To just be allowed to crash

        Call a month a milestone when
                 Soda cans hiss and click
                 Cause me to curl up with
                 Your memory, can’t leave
                 This cabinet I have locked
                 Myself inside of for fear
                 Of becoming another
                 Misspent apology

        Once I called a bottle by name, but
                 Only after I clawed my way out
                 Asked it to unleash me
                 From beneath the cork
                 Crumbling
                 Let it lay next to my shallow breath
                 Kept it bedside
                 Merciless medicine
                 Red wine stain
                 Forever on my name

 


KIMBERLY CASEY is a Massachusetts native who received her Bachelors of Fine Arts in Writing, Literature and Publishing from Emerson College in Boston, MA. She has since moved to Huntsville, Alabama where she founded Out Loud HSV—a spoken word and literary arts collective dedicated to creating a welcoming platform for language, writing, and communication to flourish. Her work has appeared in Red Fez, Hypertrophic Literary and The Corvus Review, among others.

 

 

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