Barefoot smokers sit downstairs chatting on cell phones as I wait. Wait for the Doctor to come and tell me what? Tell me that I am ill or hale based on a hammer hit on the knee and a deep look into my eyes and I will leave this place hours late for a life I barely understand but am grateful to be living. Like one of the dancing flowers from Fantasia I am swept down stream, but an amazing journey even while I wait in this six by eight room.
Sprinkle letters on a page and write to them
Marmalade, bitter and sweet, spread across my spiritual toast.
Zest and sticky solution, mix and cover the surface.
I bite down taking in the start of my day.
Past this point anything is possible.
Fame or disaster, a dreary fog filled morning
Or a cloudless afternoon.
See the passing populous
I alternating advance and retreat from this human wall.
Response and responsibility tattletale their way to my reactionary will.
The tightrope sways over the river of potential
Balance is more than a desire, it is a necessity
So I enjoy my breakfast tea.
I watch the marmalade melt as I dip my bread
In my well-steeped brew, the parade will start soon enough
I need this time before I launch into the fray.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault