The smell could make your eyes hurt. You believed
it would take the varnish off the kitchen table. Nothing
could make you take a sip back then. Back when dad
would cup the snifter under your nose, “Take a drink,
son,” he’d tease, watching you squirm. “A real man,”
he would say, as your brother moved you aside, “Drinks
what he’s given.” When my brother lost the first baby,
he didn’t make a big deal. My father is dying, slowly,
but he doesn’t mention it. “It burns! Oh god, it burns!”
I say about most of this life. Because it does. It does.
J.D. Isip’s full-length poetry collections include Kissing the Wound (Moon Tide Press, 2023) and Pocketing Feathers (Sadie Girl Press, 2015). His third collection, tentatively titled I Wasn’t Finished, will be released by Moon Tide Press in early 2025. J.D. lives in Texas with his dogs, Ivy and Bucky.
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