Dear Alcohol

A Video by Dax

My VERY Best Gift EVER

A Poem by Michael H. Brownstein

She crossed the concrete fields of the city,
shadows of darkness thickening,
every light dimming in brightness,
and entered the great room of celebration
unsure of what to expect–expecting nothing–
as was I standing near her on the perimeter,
the dance floor full, and then for no reason
we glanced at one another, she took my hand–
what a pleasant surprise!–and we danced
and we danced and we danced
until night filled itself with sunlight,
day blossomed into evergreen and gold.
A year later when she said I do,
that was the day I received my best gift ever
and I’m still the luckiest man alive.

Valentine

A Poem by Michael H. Brownstein

When she wakes,
the morning sun enters through the window
with the song of the crows and nightingales,
the chatter of the squirrels and chipmunks,
the excitement of dogs playing in the yard.

When she rises,
rainbows greet her smile and brilliance in her eyes,
the smell of fresh baked bread fill our chambers,
coffee bubbles into life at her command,
trees dance to her breath and beauty.

Thirty years and counting,
how lucky to wake to such excellence,
such exuberance, such joy and understanding,
a kiss and a hug, a hug and a kiss, everything
the perfection of Antigua blue, Montserrat black.

UFO

A Poem by Robert Holman

I remember sitting out in the front yard
with my granny and papa beneath the wings of an oak.
A plump bird landed on the power-line.
“Na’, look, that there is a dove!” my grandpa said.
Pressed against the sky a grey-brown bird
nervously rolling its head in its speckled breast.
Between the smell of gasoline and sweat
my mind flew away. I’d forgotten what he said.
“Ain’t n’ dove. That’s a witch-a-ma-call-it: a pigeon!”
“Damn it, Eunice, let me teach the boy!”
“Whooo Lord ham mercy, jist right about er-thing.”
He pointed his rough, cracked finger and whispered,
“Na’ look, Eunice, that dove can fly off
–I can’t.”