feather on down the line

Alan Bern

ADDICTION

Derek Furr

She floated along the aisle to pass the peace,

     angling off to a window during the hymn.

     Talk of debt seemed to wake her, and threat

     of the soup kitchen’s closure sharpened her

     focus. She declared that someone should

     step up to prevent all this loss.

“Had the first trip bored me, or scared me,” she

     would explain at meetings, “I might have

     been a pediatrician or a pastor.”  But

     recovery eluded her like a toddler, giggling.

     Her next days were photocopies until the

     paper bin emptied.

“How to proceed?” she wondered, finding herself in

     a woods, the voices having silenced. Leaves

     covered the trails, snow would soon follow,

     and who among the passersby could be

     trusted? Meanwhile, a barred owl stirred in

     the beeches above, preparing for night.