Luck, transposed for gratitude, makes a mockery of grief and loss. If you are lucky, what does that make me? The forgotten? The orphan of fate? If what I lost and what it cost me is just a lack of fortune, then why do right? What is sea level? I may deserve all the sweetness in the world but what explains the pain? I’ve heard that life’s not fair and laughed at the underestimation of the claim. If pain is the touchstone of growth and you are lucky and I’m hurt, does that make you short? And what is the point of growing tall?
Blow kisses to stars which look familiar.
Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open
and I discover I am out of the basement.
I have to pay close attention to where my feet are;
it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day.
Obvious limitations and universally accepted interpretations
are pried from installation and put on trial.
Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking
to make decisions for my sober life.
The road to my door must be kept clear
so I can get out to do my part
and so God can come home to me.