Old Bottles
—Oneida County, Wisconsin
From time to time, when stirring in the muck
below our lakeside dock, we dredge them up:
old bottles, curio shaped, clear, green, or blue.
We gurgle out a muddy milk of sludge
and wash each bottle clean, while wondering
how old it is and who it was who drank
___its liquor down.
For five generations our family spent
their summers here. Each generation tried
to care for alcoholics in our line.
They drank in boats, they drank on shore, they drank
themselves to early death, their bottles now
on shelves displayed like shining graves, at home
___among their own.
Steven Peterson is the author of Walking Trees and Other Poems (Finishing Line Press, 2025). He divides his time between downtown Chicago and northern Wisconsin.
A poem of both beauty and irony. Having done my time as a metal detectorist and working through canal sludge where the odd bottle turns up, I appreciate your ‘family museum’. How unfortunate the cost though.
Some of the imagery is stunning in this poem.
Thanks for the read.
Such a beautifully concise telling of a tragic story. “We gurgle out a muddy milk of sludge” is extremely descriptive both visually and auditorially.
Sad tale of topers in which the word “care” stands out. The lakeside scene should have been one of vacation relaxation and renewal, but turns out to be the place where generations pass down an addiction to alcohol, toss the evidence into the mud, then recover the bottles as poignant memorials of unsuccessful care. Words and images well chosen, Steven, to suit the melancholy outlook.
First, this is a perfectly measured poem in every detail. Second, I can relate to it very well: In a cabin in Maine owned by an old friend of mine, where I used to spend several weeks every summer, I lined the walls with my own empty bottles, supported by the fire blocking — it was a grand display of vintage single malt scotch husks, which oversaw the writing of many a good poem. It would have been unthinkable to toss the empties into the lake. Unlike some of the commenters, you felt no need to moralize. The moral is is in the narrative, plain and simple. Great work.