In a Backwater

January 9






There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance flourishes.  I hate to go there.  I avoid it when I can. Today I could not avoid it.  Today I saw the gable end of a small barn, half hidden in the scrub trees.  On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts, large, taking up the major portion of the space.  The first cutout is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall.  Tilted to its side, it looks dyslexic, but intriguing.  Above it is a cutout of a black guitar, similar length, hanging long ways across the top, almost from eave to eave.  I don’t know what it means, why they are there, who could have put them there.

A story’s tongue is sticking out at me; I can hardly bear it.  I think of God, and laugh.  If my God has nothing better to do than tease me, I need a better God.  I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the power is curious, too.  Am I overlapping a layer of consciousness I have no part in?  Is this a subliminal preview of my future?  Or am I far too nosy for my own good?  My sponsor says the latter.  I just don’t know.  It could be something all together different.  I have only time.  Time will tell in the end; it always does.  I hate to wait.





Compare and contrast eggplant and green beans.








“Whoa is me,

I have crested the rise only

to slide down the other side.

Hard work and determination culminated in victory

but alas it was short lived.

Success is barely meaningful if it isn’t permanent.

Poor, poor dear,

I will have to strive once more

at the face of a new challenge or even worse

might have to make another run at this one.

How shall I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles.

“Are you learning to be amused at yourself

or hoping to bring back melodrama to the everyman?”

She queries.

“A little of both I think,

whining is a consolation to me,

” I reply.

“It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me,

but even nicer that you have let your achievements

teach you to laugh at your mishaps,”

said my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault


About Sherrie Theriault

Sherrie Theriault, writer and outsider artist lives in northwest New Jersey where she writes villain-free fiction for children and young adults, creates coloring books for all ages, writes daily inspiration books for the recovery community and has other works of collected poetry; also adult fiction. Books available on include the following: Cala Mae The Deep Dark Day In The Congenial Chronicles The Holland’s Adventure Fill Me In Fill Me In, Too Filled In Sober on the Way to Sane More Sober on the Way to Sane Lines from My Life More Lines from My Life On-Liners to Live By My Sponsor Said… Elissa: Queen of Carthage Was Love Lost Order of Protection The Story Precedes the Question Can You See? What the Birdies Told Me about You What the Birdies Told Me about You Coloring book The Enchanting Dog Sherrie’s books are available at Blue Stockings, Manhattan, NY, The Clinton Book Shoppe, Clinton, New Jersey, Giovanni’s Room, Philadelphia, PA, Easy Does It in Long Beach, CA and The Latest Thing in Costa Mesa, Ca. You can find Sherrie’s art work at Hang-Ups Gallery in Allentown, PA or online at: Please feel free to contact her there if you have any questions.
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