I know the 7 P’s of preparation. I set the table for those I know. The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition. They seat themselves at the table with the naked. They become mute. We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats. What we need to become is far from what we are. I can not even call it other. It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t. I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp. I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests. I sit the emperor and rise the queen.
Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.
I am, too naïve;
if you show me kindness I will believe you,
follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.
These rules do not protect me,
but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.
Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,
well, that I do not know.
I pull the flaps down
and pray not to have to make any real decisions.
I fold my arms and close my mind
Believing I could never adequately open it enough
to safely live in the world outside of this closet.
Here I sit wondering what to write on this label
in order to be left alone
All the while longing for true love
a thing never given to a quivering china doll
shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault