For whatever the reason olives are often pitted and once they are pit-less there seems to rise an irresistible urge to fill that wound, whether with pimento or children’s cubby little fingers as they fish them from the can. There is an opening, an answer must be found. When I find my center gone I have that same yearning, fill that hole! It is an imperative, a need that must be met no matter how poorly. I will stuff just about anything in that gap; the list is longer than the Bell directory and yet none of it is an adequate replacement for what has gone amiss. So here I stand rife with questions. What to put in there and what to keep out. Is cream cheese preferred to cobwebs? Prosciutto better than ice? Nothing is better than some things and the right thing is better than having given up.
Maple leaves change the world, so do you
THE FLYING MIND
When my brain flies out my ear
Destination unknown I am left mentally bereft
I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction
Other than my inability to fulfill my assignments.
I stare out, sure a ring of blue birds circle my head
Or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy.
What to do, these parodied wingdings ridicule me privately
Leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors.
My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place.
I have to find a way to spot and keep emotional balance,
The way I stay upright during pirouettes
By watching one doorframe or light switch.
I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts
I still need to make the mental turns
But this should be much easier
If I stop landing on my face.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault