I feel confused by the difference between love and war. The intensity and rush are too much for my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out. I feel like a Trojan person. I have all these children holed up inside and they are waiting for peace and safety so they can come out and sleep. For a time I allowed them to leave for bathroom breaks, one at a time. This was not a workable solution. When these tykes would have a look around, they started to set fires and break hearts. Each child makes life a battleground, fights and claws her way across the living landscape. I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts, not send fragments of me to blend with the unfamiliar and hostile world. Only when I can stand together with my mind and heart safe within my being will I see a way to make love on my own and leave war alone.
Shuffle your vocabulary.
Time passes, I clock it and count it
and use its passage to construct a defense
or accusation depending on my need.
I use the calendar to condemn you
because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage
for my mental calculations.
To prize disappointment from this scene
I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops
to lift the flood gate and free me
from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope.
How long is too long to stand in a quagmire?
Why do I feel the need for permission
to leave the quicksand?
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault