If I name it do I know it?
Does emotional proximity necessitate a nearer name? Far off I would be called earthling possibly human. On this plain, female maybe woman; in this country Mrs. Theriault; in my home call me Sherrie, but in my bed hy calls me Baby. Do these names offer the requisite information, no further inquires required, is it personal enough? Is the limited nature a stunted interest from without or a privacy fence from within? Does the boundary shift dependant upon the participants or is it an almost universal standard of metered advance and reveal? And do I get more when I give more or does that end in less info and a change of direction? Also who determines what I really need to know? Wanting curiosity; my hungry mind and lonely heart do not direct all the world, yet ceaselessly they strive, shutter and ask again: Who are you?
Step toward yourself
I have the most interesting lawn ornament.
It is long and sleek, low to the ground,
Resting on rubber rolls,
Steep of side and languid front and back
It has glass, glass which slants
And glass which slops into its sides.
It’s paint shines when I buff it
And shows dust when I don’t.
Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories
I sit on the steps and admire the thing
Then I sit in the thing and admire the porch
That’s all there was until I was handed the key.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault