The Acts of Hope
I cover my head when I pray in hopes that G-d wants me sheltered. I attend meetings to keep alive the hope that sobriety is the end of isolation. I talk to the people in my network hoping I have something helpful to share. I sit down to the blank page with hopes that HP still chooses to collaborate with me. I pick up my paintbrush filled with hope that color is still my friend. I inhale air along with hope that each breath is worth the effort and I am worthy of this life.
Take your inventory but don’t sell your stock
WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS DUCK
The duck looks fine sitting on the edge,
The rubber face frozen in a permanent grin
The appearance is flawless.
As long as it is not called to duty
No one will ever know.
Stay still—don’t jump.
When dropped into the water
This creature born for the tub
Lays on its side, one eye looking at the ceiling
The other straight at the bottom.
Floating is occurring but something is oh so wrong.
As indelicate as it may seem
This duck needs a big squeeze
No kid gloves and tender touches.
This duck has sucked in old bathwater
And misused ideas
Only a big push in the right direction
Will get this rancid stuff out.
Though the duck will get bend out of shape
There is no reason it can’t bounce back
That’s the wonderful thing about rubber
It is flexible and resilient
Even if it doesn’t always volunteer.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault