Ping Pong Balls and Possession
I keep an aquarium with a goldfish on my counter and sometimes he splashes my work proving to me that the thing I think I have contained often has a mind of its own. I have heard that goldfish don’t remember much, but mine always knows which side of the tank provides him a view of me. Memory may be reflexive. Assumption possibly is as well. I must keep a fresh account of what is within my grasp and what can swim away. I have heard the many fish tales from the part of me that likes to lie. The scales shimmer and lure me to pretend control when in truth it is all just a game of chance.
BIRTH OF AN APPLE
When an apple gives birth what is the result?
Seed or sauce, crunch or crisp?
The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice
How can it be limited to one delivery?
The children of effort produce fruit of their own.
Who am I to call them other then kin?
How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard
But snow is snow.
I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing
I may finish my days in a winter orchard
If I spend my life picking not choosing.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault