What if we could untie the belted noose and breathe
your brain back to how it was before?
What if the postmark date flipped back
seven years. Your brain, a heavy sunflower
of history channel specials.
We rewind the ICU, the CPR,
the cocaine and the Xanax.
Dip into the chalice, pre-spike
of vodka in fruit punch. Before
the first hit of whatever it was.
You once told me: you name it, I’ve probably
tried it. Then proceeded to remove a weed
cig from your sock after my graduation.
We split a pitcher of Blue Moon (or was it
an IPA?) at Sweetwater Tavern,
which also only exists in memory.
O, take me back to the moment
we tipped the bartender. Walked
Commonwealth at midnight.
Any moment before you left for yet
another party of friends, only
to arrive at the hotel room of Dad’s
snores and Schwarzenegger flicks,
where you unwrap a 7-11 burrito
and fall asleep. O, brother,
it’s time to wake up now.
Claire Paschal is a poet and writer living in Dallas, TX. She earned her BFA from Emerson College ('14). She works for a children's hospital by day and tends to her tiny balcony garden at night