I stalled to tell you the thing I really needed to tell you because I couldn't quite admit it to myself. I stood at the top of the hill, my hair blowing in the wind, my breath catching in my throat with anticipation with what you might think of me. My makeup wasn't quite right, my shoes didn't match my outfit, my coat had a hole under the arm. I had lost the pin you had given me to close my scarf but I knew you wanted me to get it right this time. To be straight about things. To be fair to the world around us. So, I waited. In all my glory, I waited. And here I am. Not pretty, not polished, just me. Today, I waited.

The heart lies

in such strange

lands

vistas unseen and welcoming

The mere strand of

now

When can the yearning

evolve

how will  the flying be

such is the true

and noble yes of it all

Every 3 or 4 years I feel it

It’s time to start over

Wishing we had reset buttons

Instead of 80-100-year expiration dates

But the Buddha says

my essence would stay

Or would I be a new essence

Or would whoever I started over being

eventually revert to original me

It’s not that I can’t change,

it’s that old me’s are never forgotten

Even if I leave one behind,

someone inevitably knows a story

I don’t live under

my family tree mythology anymore,

but they know all about

the me’s I was while I did

and we have been learning

how to talk now

in this new language I speak

I couldn’t find my way to the door some days nor could I find my way down the hall. If it occurred to me to open my eyes I might even have found my own way out of my own way. But the funny thing is, most days that just didn’t occur to me. Some days I could feel the cold air blowing in my face and you know how much I hate, really hate, the cold air in my face. Why didn’t you stop the cold air blowing? Why didn’t you close the door? Or steer me down a different hallway? What? You say you tried. You say you pointed me in a different direction but you didn’t think I could hear you. I was in a world of my own. Yet you never gave up. You kept trying to steer the boat. Be the captain in the middle of the rough rocky sea. In the middle of it all, there I was. I finally saw you, heard you, crawled out of my world. In the middle of it all, I found the door. The hallway straightened, the cold wind turned warm, I opened my eyes.

Here I stand

A lone survivor with a crew of others shipwrecked by their own disaster, many more fatal than mine

Guilt for my weakness for my suffering despite the gifts I’ve been given....that others have not been so lucky…but yet my pain feels so real

"Comparison keeps us separate" I heard once from a wise fellow traveller

It is time to let that go so that I may resume my role here … as a wonderful perfect flawed agonized and elated part of this intricate collection of molecules and thoughts and particles and energy and vibrations

Surrounded with love support and kindness I can flow on the wavelength of life 

Remember that I am connected to you all 

to your pains 

and to  your joys 

when you suffer I suffer 

through your joy I receive the vibration of your passion

One particle bounces down, another reacts against it.. akin to an electrical charge that can restart a heart

Ours beat together in perfect rhythm and synchronicity. 

Ask me to explain it all I cannot. 

it’s a trip, that’s for sure, being in the middle of it all. 

So majestic the glory. So painful the agony. So sweet the wonderment.

Here I am in the middle of it all. 

Just a pinprick, over there, you may have to stop moving to see it!" he said.

Or some such equivalent. The wind was too loud.

Every pine needle multiplied by every branch and tree on the mountain,

in one voice, had become fluent in freight train.

My toes were cold, they were frozen I think, or maybe wet.

In that way that you can't tell which, but I was pretty sure I could still wiggle one piggy.

"We got this! Left! Right!" the wind carried behind him, a phantom drill Sargent.

And so they did. Left foot, right. Left foot, right.

Two dead trees post-holing in a concerted effort forward.

Out of this cold and wind and pain.

Out of this nothing good, static-brained, insanity.

Everything still hurting and begging for release.

But stopping there in the artic maelstrom I could see it.

The light is getting brighter.

Sonofabitch was right.

I'm going to tell you all the reasons why, you should put down the drugs and stop getting high.

I love you so much and I know that you're sick, but this is going to hurt and it won't be quick.

your life is important and I hope you understand, that life doesn't always go according to plan.

just believe in yourself and soon you will see, that you do have the strength to fight this disease.

there are people that love you and care about you so, if there's one thing in this world I want you to know.

that you have my support and you will forever, I won't give up on you no not ever.

Climb the tree

bemuse the maypole

trundle aghast

In a brew of artifice

Regard the microbes

ember pollen August spray

trim the sails for

a bumpy night

turn on a classic

sit back breathe deeply

Realize the universe is not a contest

You are stardust

And another thing

you know the one

with popcorn-cranberry

n sixties era icicles

fractured memories like

the time my DAD cut the tree

off too short, mis measured

and I toe-nailed the top back on

Then a week after Christmas

sweeping up the dry needles

to his quiet tears

and hauling out the tree

into the frozen welcoming

Most nights I could not sleep

Knowing I had reached my inevitable defeat

The days would pass

As would night

I didn't have the strength to put down the pipe

Always strung out never stayed in one place

Feeling like my life was a constant race

Disappointment and guilt fill my veins

I can't seem to hold on to the reins

Always wondering when I would get my next fix

I will do whatever it takes, even lies and tricks

This person you see, the one inside of me

Is a creation of this monster we call a disease

It was all so detached

At first just a hint of

Trust not delivered

Sitting on a rock

The waiting is onerous

You would think that by now

We should know better

Twisted into a mirror

Wished upon a car

Can you just listen for once

We know that the risk

was real

the infection was brittle

you can not dismiss

gravity, fire

the flood is real

real is real

repent from the dream of screams

“Just how does that work?” asked the doctor, letting go of all expectations,
dropping the deck of cards

onto the pile of lonelinesses- tomorrows which never came, did not come, have not, will not, cannot, would not, ought not.

To the stable with the barrow boy-
out with the rifle, don’t stifle, this trifle,
this connection, this appointment with hate, with the labyrinth at the end of time-

at the end of the hall,
turn right for hate room 101, or 108, I forget which- you will remember- just follow the barbwire-

laid-low rosary
leading the way to kingdom come, to Valhalla, the hate bomb,
the eight ball- don’t get stuck

behind the shadow Sisyphus got stuck behind, getting his inverse, reverse tan on the hill to the beacon-
comb your hair stallion,

meet me where the shadows are long, where the asphalt ends,
where the fun starts,
the angels land-

light as feathers,
deft as daffodils
before they are blown-
don't pass me up because my skin is sallow,

because I didn't swallow, because I didn't change my Carhart tutu
for the real deal!

Watching the speed o hover around 110 as the exhaust is screaming, nothing in sight for miles, just the open desert highway and some cactus that never really comes into focus as the truck speeds by. They both hated going to Vegas but loved the drive to get there. A rolling burn out across the dam back when you could get away with that sort of thing and it was on to the city of sin. There’s a spot where you crest the hill and you’re just staring up at the pollution above the city and the lights of the first casino welcoming you to the last place they really wanted to be, you down shift to start your descent into madness and “Where the Streets Have No Name” comes on the radio. I never enjoyed Vegas, or the situations surrounding my travels there but that song still makes me smile every time.

Writers for Recovery is pleased to announce that it has received a $5000 grant from the Vermont Community Foundation’s 2020 Northeast Kingdom Fund. The grant will help to expand writing workshops and other innovative programs throughout the Northeast Kingdom during 2021. We anticipate collaborating with recovery centers, prisons ,and social service organizations throughout the Kingdom to bring powerful writing workshops to folks in recovery. We will also present a number of readings at local libraries and art centers across the NEK. Stay tuned for more!

Something I never expected to find was looking at me with those huge brown eyes. Like an emoji that one would send that doesn’t blink, that doesn’t know what has happened. They were crystal clear, so bold in their shape, their color, their strength. They were running from something that had trapped them in this lifetime. They were looking at me, asking me to free them, but I didn’t want them to run back into my life again. So, where was I to release them? How did I tell them “I will let you go if you run the other way”? So, I looked into those big brown eyes, released the trap that was holding them, only hanging then, and do you know something that I never expected, happened. Those big brown eyes ran the other way. Or were they blue? That would have been something I would have expected!

There he was
So deliciously captivating
I looked over and caught his eye
I had felt him watching me, calling me
Tempting me
The tattoo on his neck should have been a warning sign “ STAY the fuck AWAY!!”
Yet, I felt a warm rush run through me
He lit me on fire
All from one glance.
I immediately was captivated… pulled to him
Like a moth to a flame
I should have known his was a flame that would scorch my soul; but that’s the thing when you start dancing with the Devil
You feel heat in your body down to your loins

and nothing can pull you away
I never expected to go there again
But I did that day. I began a slow seductive tango
We played that game….you know the one…I coyly look into his eyes, he looks up catches mine, I look away
TALK TO HIM my body screamed
I was too afraid
I tried to muster the strength and courage to speak
Words failed...as some part of me knew he was danger
My stop came.
As I stepped off the subway car, I watched him, our eyes still locked
As the doors closed he disappeared quickly, but our eyes remained connected until he slipped away deep into the tunnel…perhaps never to be seen again.
It was fodder for my imagination for months.

It became an obsession.

But the day came...he walked into a room …there we were, together again.

What were the chances?
There we were.
That was the beginning of the end for me.

A brief

ecstatic

soul crushing

rave
The beat of the music pulsed through me while I fell into the hole that was him...
I swore I’d never do it again. But I did. And it gutted me.
The scars remain.

The space between

Rocks

Striatious on a

Cloudy day

The reason for tulips

A wave of indeterminate

Length

Her soft round eyes

Lingering for a moment

On the dash

The bright fate of

My eyebrows

Singed by this shadow

Today I came across a conversation happening between a correctional officer and a few inmates. So, the officer seems to be in depth in the conversation so I dropped in. Just as I had come in to the chat the officer was telling the inmates that addicts make the choice to be drug addicts and that the MAT program is bullshit. That its just another way for addicts to get high. I let the officer continue talking until he brought up Narcan and how its bullshit that people play God by using Narcan to save someone in an overdose. That we should let them die because they made the choice to use and that they know the consequences. They want to be junkies and they know the risk is death. So, I figure I’ve listened enough and no one else is saying anything to this officer. So, I’m like “I’ve heard what you think, now let me tell you what I think. You say it’s our choice to be an addict, well I am an addict. I’ve been addicted to opiates since the age of 15 and I’m here to tell you that I didn’t just wake up one day and decide that I wanted to be an addict the rest of my life. This life is not a choice for us and MAT is not just a legal way to get high. In fact, MAT and Narcan have saved countless lives.” I told this officer that addiction is a horrible disease and there is plenty of scientific proof and scores and scores of information to back this up. Addiction is a disease that is treatable but a lot of people don’t have the patience or the want to help an addict. I think there are so many people out there that do not understand addiction and I think that people have their own opinions about addiction and their own ideas about the best way to handle the epidemic and handle drug addicts. But these people that are biased toward addicts are the ones that still follow the old stigma about addicts and they still believe a very distorted concept of what an addict is. But the truth is, addiction is a very serious disease and I too suffer from this disease. And I am still a good person and am working very hard toward my recovery. It is a very tolling process but it doesn’t help anyone when you act like we are unfixable things as opposed to treatable human beings who have suffered so much without the added stigma. Needless to say the officer didn’t have anything to respond, but if I did change his mind…….that’s one small win. That’s what I think.

At a ceremony on Thursday, September 24., the KidSafe Collaborative presented Writers for Recovery and Scrag Mountain Music with the Janet S. Munt Prevention Award for their collaboration on the Lullaby Project. In the project, WFR and Scrag Mountain helped moms at the Lund family center in Burlington, VT write lullabies for their children. Scrag Mountain then performed the lullabies in a series of concerts across Vermont. It was a magical time, and the moms were incredible. Watch this video, and you can see just a little bit of the magic that happened.

I’m having a blast running a workshop at the Lund family center in Burlington. Even though the classes are on Zoom, the ten-week workshops with approximately twelve women is going great!  The writing comes many times from a place of loss and trauma, but is surrounded by the strength, resiliency and the incredible hard work these women have done to turn their lives around for themselves and their children. The women are writing about their recovery, their reconnection with their children and the strength they derive from being strong Moms. Their writing is vulnerable and proud and insightful.

Love these wonderful ladies!

Thanks to all who are participating!

Bess