Whiskeys-Song:.. You sang to me Whiskeys Song..., you sang my life off key…

Whiskeys-Song: “When you grow up, you’ll see it wasn’t all my fault.”



Whiskeys-Song: Hope Chest: A note on blue paper that says “Forgive me.”

WHISKEYS SONG...THE PROCESSION...(Join The Procession.)

Whiskeys Song...At four…I saw my father…dead drunk …for the first time.

I was sitting…on stepping stones…that led…to our back door.

Scrambled …out of the way…of two grim faced men…carrying him…by his feet and shoulders.

He looked heavy.

He hung like a hammock. Alcoholism Treatment is available if you really want it.

Whiskeys-Song: Daddy slappin’ Momma, kids squattin’ in the corner cryin’.

THE BUCKET OF BLOOD TAVERN

World War II…and the troops are in,…soldiers guzzling’ booze…with the navy men.

Backs getting’ slapped…and backs getting’ stabed,…asses kicked…and asses grabbed.

Two little girls…sittin’ at the bar,…eatin’ purple eggs…from a pickle jar.

Drinkin’ Coca Cola,…munchin’ pretzels and chips,…getting sick on whiskey…from sneakin’ little sips.

Soldiers give you quartes…if you give ‘em a hug,…Momma on the dance floor…cutting’ a rug.

Daddy goes over…yanks Momma’s waist,…guy she’s dancing’ with…makes a tight fist.

Daddy falls down…with a big thud,…that’s how it goes …at The Bucket of Blood. The Mind of The Addict know it.

Whiskeys-Song: I get between them. Daddy’s eyes just this side of crazy.

EMBARRASSED TO DEATH

The first time…I saw Momma’s…pubic hair…Daddy was dragging her ,…feet first…to the bathtub…to drown her.

I still hear…the thud…of flailing limbs….Curses, pleas, …my sister’s screams.…Running water.

And I still see…Momma…tying to pull…her dress down…to cover herself. Womens Spirituality and Practice is Personal.

Whiskeys-Song: Mitzi Chandler is strong, courageous, and blazingly honest.

THANKSGIVING DINNER

Turkey with trimmings,…sweet-potato pudding, biscuits. The smell of apple pie, and tension…hang…in the air.

We kids, hungry baby birds,…wait for the feast. Try not to see…the familiar signs.

Momma in a pretty apron,…skittish as a squirrel.Daddy at the head of the table…watches….waits.Then as quick as he can says,…”This turkey is too dry.”…It happens.

Crash of glass…the turkey shatters the window. Mashed potatoes cling to walls. Table overturned, …our feast scattered. Momma sits stunned. A hurled knife …lodged in her lip. Spirituality Practice is your individual take on life.

Whiskeys-Song tells the story of a life of chaos, pathos and survival.

ROULETTE

The revolver…chamber twirled…Click. Click. Click.

I sat…on the other side…of the closed…kitchen door, shoulders and knees…drawn to my…hammering chest.

He slurred,…”These bullets have names on them.” Click….Click….Click.

Was he…holding the gun…to Mamma’s head? Would Daddy really do it?

Maybe not sober,…but whiskey…could pull…the trigger.

LAVENDER BLUE

I scream an endless scream from a rooftop. Dream of mutilated bodies that wake me in a clammy sweat.

I wore a sweater, ran home when a man whistled.Cried in the closet.

Momma gave me five dollars to leave so her man wouldn’t look at me. I knocked him over when he pulled me on his lap. Know and Use Your Activities of daily Living, Essential.

Whiskeys-Song is Alcohol’s Sirens Call.

MOMMA

She floats through the door…draped in Cannon white, runs soft fingers…over my face, whispers,…”Are you asleep?” “Yea” giggles through.

“Whooo, I am the Tooth Fairy,… here’s a dime for your…front tooth.” I peek. Dark hair curls…around her face;…she smells of cologne, not beer. I am breathless, butterflies tickle. “Whooo…”

She tiptoes away,…her hands weave the air…with magic. I want to hug her…forever. WHISKEYS SONG got you in its grasp? Break Free.

Whiskeys-Song, The Personal Poetry of Pain.

SCAPEGOAT

No one home but me…curled up in a chair…watching the new TV. Hear the doorknob jiggle…like it does…when Daddy’s loaded.

“Where’s your no-good…mother? Who said you could…watch my TV?”

He grabs my braids,…yanks my head back,…pins me in the chair…with his knees. His face to mine, mouth and teeth…snap and snarl.

Bites of mad dog…words spit over me…until I am limp…in his grip. Whimpers give way to sobs.

“Little sissy baby. Look at the little sissy baby. You want a bottle little sissy baby?”

He yanks the television…and leaves the house…laughing.

CIGARETTES

Uncle Edgar…smoked in bed. Uncle Edgar…drunk, then dead. Sober Living is Abstinence lived as Sobriety Living Sober.

Whiskeys-Song The poetry of Healing.

IN THE HALLWAY

In the hallway…images stare from memory…like wax statues. I watch a neighbor…in a rage of jealousy…throw his pregnant wife…down the steps.

Then see his fists crack…against Daddy’s jaw, …distort his face…like pictures…in boxing magazines. Hear the squish of saliva.

Watch as blows make …each strand of black hair…stand on end…one by one…as if in slow motion.

In the hallway…I watch…my fourteen year old brother,…protecting my mother…fling amateur fists, afraid to stop until…Daddy lay unconscious;…His eyes blue bulges.

Walls splattered with blood…from father and son.

In this hallway…two teen-age boys,…friends of my sister, kick my father …in the stomach and head…until he is a bloody, limp rag.

Mother and daughter begging them to stop.

Even now,…the antics of Popeye and Bluto, Tom and Jerry…make me uneasy….Take me back to the hallway. Addiction is a Spiritual Disease. Discover Why.

Whiskeys-Song “Can you feel the melody?”

CHRISTMAS EVE

It took him…hours to decorate…the ceiling high tree. Arrange the lights…in a pattern of…red,blue, yellow…Christmas balls…spaced just so. A star on top.

We kids drape tinsel…on the lower branches,…one strand at a time. The final magic,… he dresses his creation…in a gossamer gown…of angel hair.

Under the tree…he fashions…a snow-covered farm. Haystacks snipped…from broom straws, fence posts hanbd cut from twigs.

He lets us place…a sheep here, a horse there,…rearranges what he did.

I pretend happy people live…in the farm house…with a light. Happy like I feel.

It took him seconds…to topple the tree. The snow-covered farm…scattered in a rumple…of white sheet….Tree lights blinking…merrily,…as if they didn’t know.

Whiskeys-Song…“Don’t Be Afraid.”

WATCHING

Poker chips clink…Smoke hovers,… Whiskey, straight.Eyes at half-mast, he brags to my father, “Had her sprayed,… she’s always sprawled and ready.”

Runs his hands up bare legs, open legs.

Later the man snores at the table. She and Daddy are gone. My mother cries.

I watch. Wish away the bumps forming on my chest.

Later I asked Momma, Why don’t you leave him?”

“Because,” she says. Her voice on the edge.

LITTLE SISTER

Daddy liked to hold her upside down in the aquarium until she stopped squirming.

Terrified eyes look out. Curious fish nibble at her cheeks.

In the womb she had beans and fatback, but mostly booze,

Four-pound survivor born hungover,

Large eyes, face flat, pressed against a wall of a fish tank.

Whiskeys-Song…“You Know The Lyrics.”

THE LAST STOP

He drove a city bus, night shift. Made a little money working for his brother when he was sober. …After that spent his days on the bench at 5th and Mellon---The Last Stop.

BUM AT THE BUS STOP

Rumpled clothes, shaggy hair. That’s my father lying there.

WHISKEYS SONG

Once I heard my Father whistle and my breath caught in my throat.

“Oh Daddy, don’t. I only know your Whiskey Song. Don’t stir my longing for a melody that cannot be.

Your moment of peace will vanish and I’ll know our loss more for having heard the song that could have been.

Whiskeys-Song…“SING, DAMMIT SING.”

BEFORE HEALING

Get off the stage!…The play is over….The actors gone, taken new roles.…Some have died.

I can’t….I was born…in the play….Scenes whirled… around me;…I had no lines.

I can’t shed…my costume. …The skin I live in.

IS WHISKEY”S SONG PART OF YOUR LIFE?

“What hurts is that love cries out on the other side of a wall we don’t know to climb.”

MITZI CHANDLER



The Serenity Prayer is bedrock for Recovery.