NO GOLD STARS
I look at my chart, then my chest; there are no gold stars. I long for the affirmation of my great and seemingly endless struggle. I watch the movements of those with shiny shoes and hope to be awarded with the gummed insignia. When I hang by a thread, I desire the corroboration of foil cutouts to assure me I have done right; I have stayed alive. Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation. But, no one truly knows my bravery and if I want these paper emblems, I can just go and buy my own.
Count unhatched chickens but don’t place them on the menu.
The Hope Diamond
My guess is
the same god that wants me stupid
also wants me to suffer.
I ask myself what could be all powerful about that?
I wonder is God like a friend or a lover?
I carefully chose my friends
whereas my lover found me
against my greatest plans and well thought rules.
And if this is to be like marriage,
may I file for divorce if things go astray?
Or am I stuck with this match,
like I am stuck with my deformed ear
there underneath hat or fringe of hair?
I never thought of my relationship with God
like a necklace I could take on and off at will,
though the more I study it seems this beautiful thing
enhances my beauty if all is right
and will strangle me if it gets hung up.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault