I sit somewhere.
Between joy and sorrow
Mixing White Russians in my mind,
I’m never sure where that is
Exactly.
Hope?
Despair?
Good?
Evil?
It’s like tipping one back
At church.
Exactly.
Faith?
Works?
Wrong?
Right?
She sits beside me.
Stirring her own
Fancy Umbrella drink
She says,
“Rest.”
“Relax.”
“Just.”
“Be.”
“Exactly.”
