The night is cold concrete, heavy with ash.
I feel the ache, but I am not lost.
The shadows crowd the corners, dark and calculating.
Yet the miles live in my bones, the years in my hands.
I drink scotch, but I am not the drink.
Spice and smoke roll through the dark like old memories,
sharp at first, then settling into something honest.
It burns without cruelty, lingers without permission.
I have known noise and silence,
victories that faded and scars that stayed.
Tonight, there is no need for answers.
Just the weight of the glass,
the slow fire of the alcohol.
I feel the scarred wood, the amber liquid, the steady pulse.
I feel the sudden, quiet warmth.
The shadow breaks as a gold ray cuts the window.
The dawn is a clean horizon.
I am enough.
Joe Garvey is an American poet from Worcester, Massachusetts, living in southern New England. A former linebacker at Hofstra University and later an actor in film and television, his work has appeared in Expat Press, The Lake, Mad Swirl, Aethlon: The Journal of Sport Literature, and The Rye Whiskey Review.
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