One Singular Crowd
Isolation among the isolators is replete with metaphor and theme. Expectation blithers loudly but is drown by the palpable inevitability of the outcome. I pirouette in a room filled with dancers but we do not touch, we just spin near one another full view but little contact. Yet I hear my heart beating in my ear and know that I am alive. The flush of neighboring cheeks attests to duplicate conditions there. We are moving together sometimes in harmony but other times in antipathy, dependant all the same. We are the army of independent meanings. Individual cases sharing one slender goal but that’s all that we need.
If you can’t find the grape try some jelly.
On my ride home from work there’s a boat stuck between two trees
In the middle of a horse pasture
Next to a riverbed so dry it’s filled with grass.
I think the boat is me.
I feel for the boat every time I see it.
Turned on edge, waiting for a river which doesn’t exist anymore
And may never exist again
Placed on edge for protection, not comfort.
Although having my bottom rot out
Well, let’s just say, might be more uncomfortable
What good will I be even if the river runs again
Since I’m fenced in?
If my Higher Power has a plan
If it includes a river and a fence
If I’m in this plan, me, the row boat
I just don’t see it.
Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life
Truth is, I don’t want to face the fact, I might float away
Even though I’m supported by two big trees
Even though there is a tall fence around me.
Completely in spite of the fact
THERE IS NO WATER
My Higher Power loves me.
I AM THE BOAT
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault