Holy Liquor, portion us our potion,

pop the cork of our confession box,

vodka Vespers, swimming in an ocean

where Our Mother’s medicine unlocks

fisted hearts grim-gripping fear and anger,

numb succumbing washing sin away,

blood and body of a soothing languor,

never shall we thirst again, we say.

Then, at Matins, merry tide recedes –

we are seasick driftwood left to dry

on a barren beach of unmet needs

where deaf air won’t hear our bootless cry.

But by Vespers, our faith, now restored,

drives us to the liquor store for more.

“The Hours of Prayer,”  Songs of Erertz Poetry Review, Fall 2023http://www.songsoferetz.com/