I look along the list of names, look upon the sea of faces. Are there any whose eyes I avoid? I gaze across the landscape are there any craters, any pock marks, any divots. I tick through my actions those I’ve recently taken checking for stumbles, glitches, snafus. These combined facts and figures create a portrait of my day; I appraise the eyes, the hair, the teeth. If I can smile at what I see all is well if not I begin the repair.
Plan for your contentment at least as much as you plan your escape
I turn the desk lamp into the eyes of God.
I put question after question
To the construct of my childhood concept.
Would you please explain?
Or exactly why did You do this,
That, or the other thing?
Are You now or have You ever been a member of?
I put the pressure on.
The beads of perspiration join and then trickle.
I have God in the box, I will not relent.
I don’t understand You, I say disappointedly
As if speaking to a troubling adolescent.
You have so much potential, if only You would apply Yourself
The icon shakes It’s head slowly and deliberately,
I shake my head too.
So much time has passed
And I am no closer to embrace.
You don’t understand Me, says God to me.
Dawn breaks, I uncuff this mythic creature.
You are not the One I am looking for,
You are free to go
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault