The randomness of love is matched only by the randomness of loss. What slips into view or out of grasp whispers beyond my control. Like cookies baking in a nearby oven I long for the sweetness to be inside; even if it is simply in an olfactory way. The similarity of the pain of what I have and the pain of what is no longer mine haunts me; scares my security, rattles my hope, affects my sleep. For minutes make a life and moments are all it takes to remove the very same. In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love and love does not remove loss.
Check your drawers for memories
The screaming lethargy of being alive
after many years of wanting something else.
The exhaustion of pulsing, breathing waves,
waves of thinking.
Yet as tired as I am, I am.
Here without a doubt, I stand.
No crawling, for I have not fallen.
No climbing, for I have reached the plain.
I wait for the rain to wash over me.
The truth to run through me, time to pass by me.
Like a free trip to an unwelcome destination
I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations.
I am here now.
The train doesn’t seem to be moving on.
I might as well leave the station.
Nothing to do on the platform.
There may be points of interest
or flowers to be smelled.
I step haltingly and fear making any connection
to this unbidden place.
My name is unknown.
I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street.
I am tired from travel,
Fearful of arrival.
Fury courses through my veins
but the weather is pleasant.
I might take off my coat and stay.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault