16
Three poems by bekah steimel
Pale Garbage with a habit
She called me drug addicted white trash. Pale Garbage with a Habit. An insult constructed of equal parts truth and slander. I am a drug addict. I’ve smoked, popped, drank and snorted my way through years, losses, celebrations and everyday occurrences. I’ve crawled over rocks and floated in clouds. I’ve tripped and rolled. I’ve stumbled through doors only I could see. Drug addicts forsake balance and must try to navigate the tilt with roller skates. I’ve slipped like stars and risen like a full moon. I am an addict, typical and unique. A million stars and a single moon. The sky understands this.
My grief is water
comprising about seventy percent of me
covering about seventy percent of me
you were once my blood, and the solid ground
I stood upon
until your death flooded me and refused to recede
or maybe I refuse to let it ebb
believing an ocean of sorrow to tread in
is the proper tribute to a love that once saved me from drowning
To Shed the shadow
To shed the shadow
I must walk willingly into darker places
the overgrown cemetery of memories—buried alive
the garden of addictions—growing out of control
I cannot tend one alone
without visiting the other
I must exhume my past life
to cremate the present
I must march into the barren and bountiful
and unearth
and uproot
what is pulling me into the ground.