Occasionally, before the drink convinced him br the dishevelled look was a good idea, br he'd venture into the kitchen with unsteady purpose br overdosing dinner with “[i]I'm not drunk[i] spoonfuls of salt. br At the very least we got to see him cry. br Onions more evocative than a weeping wife br Cowering behind a piss-wet screaming child. br Yet morning would bring light.It would scythe away br The dark of his mood. br On his lap he'd whisper bitter coffee apologies br And spider his fingers up and down my spine; br I would giggle and forgive, for I was a child. br br Our faces are now but mosaics scattered and tossed, br Twirling in the whirlwind that is whiskey br We are scraps of a once-upon-a-time br he is remembering the scent of her perfume, br the colour of my old bedroom br muddying all memory with vodka br which he gulps as though a child with lemonade.