DRUNK LIKE THAT<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
1
\nA cloudburst over the bird yard
\nturkeys gone to church\u2014mouths agape
\nheads up<\/p>\n
Grandma shakes her head, rheumy eyes
\nstare past something
\nI cannot see<\/p>\n
She pours me Boston coffee, milk
\nand Folgers equal parts, I blow circles
\nacross the top of the cup<\/p>\n
Drown\u2014they\u2019d as soon drown
\nmean too\u2014Grandma with her cane
\nshooed the cloud devotees back
\nto the barn. Her red Irish head soaked
\nand black round eye glasses smeared
\nwith dust and rain.<\/p>\n
2
\nBare-footed and wrapped in Mama\u2019s
\nhot pink shawl, tonight I crane my head
\nupwards and gawk at a moon
\ntoo large for consumption
\nbut I drink until moon drunk<\/p>\n
every bit as bright
\nas a turkey in the rain.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mary Elizabeth Gillilan<\/a> is the editor-in-chief of Clover, A Literary Rag.<\/a> She leads writers groups at the Independent Writers\u2019 Studio<\/a> in Bellingham, Washington. Her novel, Tibet, A Writer\u2019s Journal<\/a><\/em> was published in 2007. Her greatest achievements are her two wonderful daughters. She lives in a hundred year old house in Bellingham with three rescue dogs and a cat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" DRUNK LIKE THAT 1 A cloudburst over the bird yard turkeys gone to church\u2014mouths agape heads up Grandma shakes her head, rheumy eyes stare past something I cannot see She pours me Boston coffee, milk and Folgers equal parts, … Continue reading