Bildungsroman: Imbibing

I would eat, but she would drink cod 
liver oil—rancid sea stank, fire- 
swamp sharp over my pancakes, 
 
my pbjs, my faith that people put good 
things in their bodies, not 
lich elixir: the dank desiccating 
 
darkness of that vile vial. And she drank 
and hunched further, got slower 
and sadder. Drank because her mother 
 
did (who died at 52). Drank because her 
grandfather did (who coughed 
himself out of his body). And this 
 
promise hung in the yellowing glass: that 
if you suffer when sipping, all 
suffering will end.