Just because I own pointy boots doesn’t mean I can corral the cows. I have in my possession many things of subtle intent, but they can’t just transform me. The wings from Halloween don’t make me an angel. The Big Book on the shelf won’t sober me up. Nothing holds the magic to change me. I can only change with help. Action, action and more action is the magician’s sleight of hand. It slides my hand from glass to grace. I don’t need to pull a rabbit from my hat.
Play with your oatmeal.
The embarrassment of need
is a haunting guest who will not leave.
I turn in a tight circle trying to find a way
to detach this wart and move gracefully
from the site of devastation.
But it looms large
and overshadows today’s possibilities
and robs tomorrows gold.
What I cannot do for myself,
the magic I cannot yet perform,
stands between me and contentment.
It stands there wearing your face;
touching my mind with your fingertips.
I pray that you are not the answer
for I cannot depend on you.
I think of you and the little bell rings
and I am hungry.
Desire is a gift, desiring you is the burden
whose shadow I cannot escape.
I close my eyes to the light you emit;
I cannot close my heart, all that’s left is pleading;
please come home and fill me or leave
and lock the door and let me grieve in peace.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault