If I am out of sync with the way the world turns, I can be nothing but disappointed. I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day and grieve the loss of spring. I shiver in my sandals and ponder the need for a windshield scraper, the autumn leaves so long past. I must orchestrate my moods and movements with the evolution and revolution about me. I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning and the coyotes, come the moon. I can spin with the stars. I can grow with the grass. I don’t need to counter- balance life. If I learn to bend with the tides, it all comes around again.
If moles can make hills you can move mountains
If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation,
you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years.
Bent foresight twists hindsight.
Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant.
Evil splintered to a thousand slivers
burrows under the skin without killing their host.
Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy;
a septic contagion if ever there was one.
How do we fight this systemic blight?
It is embedded in the water,
the air, the mind, and try what I might;
I can’t seem to live without any of these.
Chiggers of the soul feed and breed
no matter how I scratch and chew.
I am raw, but still infested.
How do I kill what is in me
without killing the me?
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault