First Day

 

I do not remember that first day
when I decided to put scotch in my coffee.
That first burst of dark roast burned with
the distilled spirits a decade strong.

I do not remember the first day
that I burned through a black label
in the evening after work,
just to melt it all away.

I do not remember the first day
when I got the shakes- too long without a swig,
the bite on my tongue giving me enough
venom to pick up where I left off.

If I could remember that first day
I would bargain like Faust
with whichever kindly deity who would listen
for the favor of redemption.

If I could remember that first day,
A word, spoken through time at just the right time,
to alter the crooked path
that I would find myself stumbling…

Oh, that I could remember,
but I can not summon the memory to save my life!
So why not another venom filled bite
to kill the desire to remember?

…but…If I could remember myself
who I was, and who I wanted to be,
then today would be the first day
that I empty my cup and face the thirst.