The history in my genes have cut a channel in the rock of existence; I pour through it everyday. I too change the face of life one grain at a time, though I rarely recognize my affect I am so busy running. Damns, ponding, acts of G-d leave their marks for future readings, but I keep moving. The water is never the same twice; it changes even more than the mineral face and yet its liquid life looks more than unchanged from a distance and is a world filled with variety up close. Circle the globe, the sun, the sands of time, the river of life flows from here to there and back again.
Bake pies to warm the crisp apples
CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND
I fill the pallet of a New Years sobriety
And when it has been accomplished
Make a manifest and strap this pallet
With the others on the flatbed of my life.
The cargo is secure and weighty
And there is ample pressure
Where the rubber meets the road.
I maneuver my rig carefully.
I feel assured as I stream
With the traffic on the byways.
The power and magnitude of my transport
Prompts in me over confidence.
I fail to realize variation
In weather or road conditions
Can jeopardize my journey.
Eighteen wheels make for poor cantilever
When traction is lost and top heavy wins out.
In losing the battle of gravity,
Inertia and control, I realize the past
Is not a weight I need to haul.
All that is necessary is the inventory.
I slip the pages into my pocket
And walk the rest of the way.
I am my only freight.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault