Southern Comfort

"Far better it is to dare mighty things." Theodore Roosevelt

A first sip of comfort --

like coffee at dawn,

or whiskey at day's end --

is enlivening as a first breath

for an infant.

Ahhh sliding home.

Awed cries drinking in

this new crack at bat.

At rebirth.

Tuck me in, too, while you’re at it.

Burrow me further beneath snuggly blankets

of relief embroidered

with thick green strands of reassurance.

Spirit, my trusty stuffed animal

evolving as needed

from teddy quoting Roosevelt

to bunny outfoxing Elmer Fudd

to lion reclaiming pride.

I am not as alone as

too often

I feel.

Lately, though,

I've found myself

leaping

from the barstool to behind the counter,

serving up to others their glass of comfort.

Southern, Northern, Easter, Western -- whatever

direction fate has blown them,

spiced with whichever of the four seasons.

The comfort's on me. I'll even buy another round --

my funds of empathy unlimited,

paying it forward in deep-pocketed gratitude

for those who once comforted me.

Such a lush I've become! Intoxicated

with cravings

to add

splash after splash after splash

of comfort

to the rank, unswallowable swill cocktailed

on the rocks

to others.

Our bellies expansive

with Light, 100 proof.

No hangover, save for grace

and a zealot’s belief in fire-water.

Its amazing potential

to flip-top pinecones

and pour forests.

Who knew

we had it

in us?

Copyright Jenine Bsharah Baines