Hungry dogs who love me anyway, dance around waiting to be fed. If they didn’t love they would take bloody bites and I don’t forget it. These puppies have teeth, like cigarettes I want to smoke but don’t. And meanwhile back on the farm I seek to quiet the whines and barking of the unfed, malnourished familiarity which writhes at my ankles and jumps at my knees. I can no longer pat my disquiet on the head and expect it to stay or heal. I must hunt down the beast which bothers me and feed the meat of it to the pups. I must not leave the lopers to quarry my burden if I want to remain master and leave them to be pet.
Rip yourself away from distress
DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND
I was running on empty
And thought I was getting along that way
But the smoke gave me away.
My life had caught on fire
And I burned to the ground.
I thought nothing had been apparent
Until it all lay in ashes.
My sponsor said, No——-
We all knew when your tank ran dry.
The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.
I asked her, if that were true,
Why I hadn’t hear it myself?
She said, she guessed,
I had my denial turned up to loud.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault