Right next to this world is the globe that I came from. The landmarks are similar but these spheres have little in common. The angle of refraction illuminates the place of my origin. The source of this light is legend. On my home planet, the existence of sobriety is cast off as myth. I held on to this tale with my heart. I slipped the gravitational bonds of crazy one night by the glow of the ready button on the coffeepot. Here and there intersect at only one point, a room with some chairs and a circle with a triangle. The meeting was on Step One and it was a good place to jump in.
Put a leaf on your tongue just for fun.
I know how to put my hands together,
but I am unable to clap.
It’s not that my palms can’t locate each other;
it’s that I cannot find the beat.
I sing; lilting rhythms rolling from my tongue.
I keep time and drum the tattoo of jingle dress dance songs,
but when my hand comes against its mate something is off.
Faltering nuance plays havoc with my exuberant desire.
I want to join the crowd in syncopated applause,
yet my brain drops out.
Because the gap is too far to leap
I must walk around to the other side
and by then I’ve lost the moment,
the world has moved on without me.
I used to think I needed to run my routine a little faster,
but now I realize I need to learn to leap the gap
and trust the beat to find me.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault