The rain makes shadows of water. It spills onto the ground like tiny worlds. What had been airborne and mist is now earthbound and integral, feeding, cutting, learning the world. Once I contemplated theories and mystery. Now, washing dishes is a spiritual service. The view was lovely when I was above it all but now I course through the veins of life. There may come a time when I am untouchable again but by then I will have been a part of it all. I will carry the world with me always, an orbiting servant not just above but through.
Engrave compliments in your mind.
Clock and Calendar Girl
I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through.
The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment
and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder;
I climb from month to month and age to age.
When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic
till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more.
Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes
to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain.
Take away my clock and I go deaf,
remove my calendar and I go blind.
Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault