where the writers are

September 21





The rearview holds the vision, the sad figure on the corner as I drive away, all that is left to me are memories of G-d, the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.  I cannot face what is left when I make G-d homeless and unloved.  Though living together was tough sometimes, living alone is unbearable.  Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right, even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.  And G-d wasn’t built for the streets, that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.  We are meant to be together and apart the world spins off its measure.  Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block, fling open the door and take pity on G-d and go home.



Make time for lullabies






The bells are ringing but no one sings

There are no peals of laughter and that’s just fine

For pleasure is not the only response to sound.

Shock and distain are other options, too.


I have what I want in relationship to the buzz in my ear

Equal opportunity attitude, pro and con.

Some songs bring joy when they end.


I have to lower my expectation of pleasure

And value my distaste for tinkling sounds

Or any other preordained sweetness.




You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault