On balmy evenings dew forms in my life and moistens my extremities. This friendly act requires the maintenance of temperature. If I become suddenly cool the landscape changes and the once welcoming vapor is now a show of crystalline rigidity. Cold to the morning light I am brittle and snap at even a tentative touch. For want of passion I have replaced it with definition and structure I can not absorb. I am outlined clearly but no longer myself. I am frozen, formally changed within and without. Warmth is necessary, but how to start my own fire? Learn, I must and quickly lest frostbite set in.
Wear your mantle don’t leave it to the fireplace
LONELINESS EATS MY LUNCH
There are days loneliness eats my lunch
And I can’t fight back.
How can I stand it,
How can it still be this bad?
I pull out the old chestnuts.
If I’m not happy with what I have
How could I be happier with more?
Even tickets on the 50 yard line don’t interest me, I came to play.
I think of other slogans, the tidbits, the smiles and hugs.
I roll them around.
Still, there are days my lunch is gulped down
And I sit with my plate empty.
Pickle juice, coleslaw drool is small comfort
Actually, it’s a jeer.
I stare at my empty plate
I turn and twist it, stick my tongue out at it.
“Your good company,” says my sponsor
Then why am I alone, if I’m so good
If my company is worthwhile
Why do I sit here hungry and desperate?
“Are you sure you are?”
It sure feels that way.
“Well, it might be true and it might not.”
I get it.
I am unhooked from myself
I am ignoring the multitude at my elbow
While looking for someone in my lap
I’m holding out for old terms from a new contract
I am loved by people
Who aren’t trying to consume me
And I am letting my expectations
Dine for free.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault