We passed those years,
Liquored up from dusk,
Until the wee hours,
When we dispensed with sleep—
One cocktail after another.
And the drinks were as strong
As they needed to be,
Anything keeping us steady,
Occupied, round by round,
A toast for each occasion—
No guest of chance allowed.
How we made it through
Tipsy seasons of gloom,
Mystifies us, ever, still.
Now, the holiday highball,
Holds its sacred place;
This grace between us—
Secrets we know all too well.
Poem by Bart Edelman
Image by Adam Strong
Bart Edelman’s poetry collections include Crossing the Hackensack (Prometheus Press), Under Damaris’ Dress (Lightning Publications), The Alphabet of Love (Red Hen Press), The Gentle Man (Red Hen Press), The Last Mojito (Red Hen Press), The Geographer’s Wife (Red Hen Press), Whistling to Trick the Wind (Meadowlark Press), and This Body Is Never at Rest: New and Selected Poems 1993 – 2023 (Meadowlark Press). He has taught at Glendale College, where he edited Eclipse, a literary journal, and, most recently, in the MFA program at Antioch University, Los Angeles. His work has been widely anthologized in textbooks published by City Lights Books, Etruscan Press, Fountainhead Press, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw-Hill, Prentice Hall, Simon & Schuster, Thomson/Heinle, the University of Iowa Press, Wadsworth, and others. He lives in Pasadena, California.
Backwards Trajectory 