No drink lasted as long as I would’ve liked.
February rains, the temperature dropping
Steadily through the days. By the middle of the month,
The stars shined like ice in the dark heavens,
Clear and cold. I held the glass I’d only just emptied
Up to my nose: I wanted another, and another,
And another, though the prayer I spoke to God,
On good days, was simple: today was better because you helped me
Not to drink. My sister was born at the end
Of a very long month. I don’t know why
But I thought of her tonight. I’d been reading,
And when I turned off my light,
I discovered that snow, though I hadn’t known,
Was already falling around me through the night.
Grady Chambers is the author of North American Stadiums (Milkweed). His poems have appeared in The Atlantic, Paris Review, American Poetry Review, and elsewhere. A former Wallace Stegner Fellow, he lives in Philadelphia.
