Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand. The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind. Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life. Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way. The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life.
HOME TO HOPE
Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days
And I have trouble finding my way home to hope.
Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.
Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.
I am lost.
Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.
I wander deeper into a dismal wood.
How can I chop my way free?
Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance.
I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky
Skepticism passes like storm clouds.
I may feel the rain for a time.
Necessity reigns on both sides of every street
But still I can crawl into my bed
Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault