THE FLYING MIND
When my brain flies out my ear, destination unknown, I am left mentally bereft. I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction other than my inability to fulfill my assignments. I stare out sure a ring of blue birds circle my head, or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy. What to do? These parodied wingdings ridicule me privately leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors. My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place. I have to find a way to spot and keep my emotional balance, the same way I stay upright during pirouettes by watching one doorframe or light switch. I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts. I still need to make the mental turns but this should be much easier if I stop landing on my face.
Work with yourself.
My time hovering low over the ocean
has filled me until I am ready to drop.
The weight of what is inside me bears down.
I know with the slightest cooperation
I will become a rainmaker.
I am mostly fine with this.
I know from whence the rain was derived
and I can let it fall in peace.
What I don’t know how to handle
is the acknowledgement.
The difference between what I know
and what you might think is vast
and if I try to dissuade you
I sound disingenuous or fraudulent.
I have to get my head around the part I play
and accept the roses when they come.
I don’t understand how this looks from offstage
or what it means to those who watch.
I hope they will enjoy the work
but never mistake me for the playwright.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault