I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life, its weight a burden for numerous years. I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing. Though it has been commented on by many, my fidelity is boundless. In spite of inner questions and doubts, now that the fire is here, I am glad to have it. I pull it over me and step into the fray. Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence and am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot. I don’t believe I can quench all the flames, but I hope to help some to safety and bat down the encroaching inferno a bit.
Acknowledge the upswings in your value.
Bent, Spindled, Mutilated
Injury changes memory,
not just the memory of the individual trauma,
but the very nature of the mind.
The hooks and loops distort
and I can’t hold on as I once did.
The misses and disconnects become more frequent,
then they become expected.
Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice,
the hardware is damaged
and a positive attitude is advisable
but the pliers are a necessity.
Some things are easier to break than to repair,
in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required,
though some take it on as skill,
Most destruction is ignorant or accidental,
nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape.
Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation,
though both have their cost.
Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers.
Possibilities and probabilities stack;
action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix.
I take a breath to face the final blow,
for when the cost adds up
and I look for recompense
all I hear is the check is in the mail
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault