aleathia drehmer, two poems


At 4 am I realized
I’d reached acceptance,
his cowardice
the linchpin
of the grenade
in my hand,

and I’m left standing
in the emotional
fallout, drained
and feeling weak.

I will take from this
every lesson
I’ve failed to learn
over the course
of this life.

I will take from this
understanding and truth.

I’m owed at least
this much.


I haven’t written a poem
since you told me
I was regurgitating
the same emotion
over and over
like a string of Scorsese films.

I let the pain of what you did
cut me down, still trusting
your instinct with words,
but it reminded me of the time
that Englishman told me
I hadn’t written a poem yet.

Gutted, he used to say
when the pain was deep.
I feel it now
as I felt it then.

That night I wrote
one of the best poems
of my life, crying in the shower
water scalding my flesh.

I’ve moved on
from acts
of asceticism.

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