Do I carry myself as well as I could? Do I understand the value of what is contained within me? This journey matters, it requires my attention and comprehension, if only I am able. When I fall short the road changes. The distance I go has much to do with how well and whether I acknowledge the nature of the cargo with which I am imbedded.
If you have to put your foot down; open your fist
WHAT IS MINE
The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight
And poured from the branches with the morning breezes.
Showers of crystal, drop from a clear daylight sky
As a telltale of intentions delayed.
What was meant for moon time
Has been kept till sunshine
A treat for bright eyes and young hearts.
How can I weep over altered destinations?
Arrivals and departures are truly the province
Of poetry and postcards
Not a thing for worry or fretting.
Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the worlds.
Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at will.
Shoulds and aughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless.
If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win
I will fail to see what I can’t lose.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault