where the writers are
Clock and Calendar Girl
riverview artshow.jpg


April 2



Clock and Calendar Girl



I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through.  The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder; I climb from month to month and age to age.  When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more.  Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain.  Take away my clock and I go deaf, remove my calendar and I go blind.  Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.





Address your future






Stuck in a block, my sponsor chips away at me
I struggle to hold still
With surgical precision she cuts through the debris
With which I have surrounded myself

After my sponsor frees my hand and arm
She places a hammer in my open fingers
When the other arm and hand are rescued
She places a chisel in that hand

This is how before my head showed above the surface
I began to help in my own restoration
I am the sculptor
The program has made me

Recovery has taught me
I can be anything
If I keep chipping away
At the things which hold me hostage

As time travels on I am a new shape
With each turn through the steps
And have an ever lustrous finish
With every application of the traditions