The pussy willows bloom looking much like crested poultry. The coldest part of my heart is fighting to thaw in this early spring. Weather is not of the mind to be rushed. Neither my hopes nor the changing calendar can persuade the warmth into the May mornings. It’s May for me, too, no longer the early sobriety of January. The years have marched on; I wait for the delivery of my returning brains. Long term sobriety has begun but I am still beset with the chill of fragility. I desire dignity and find myself strutting like a fowl with blooming plumage, addled and gawky.
“Don’t worry,” says my sponsor, “the pussy willow is in no way less for showing itself in the rawness of growth.”
Listen to the sounds of your life.
“The difference between a demand and a request
is apparent to everyone.”
A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart.
I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner;
neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck
like a wayward calf.
I obey because it works for me
and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy
or careless I will obey you no longer,
this doesn’t make me less obedient
it just takes you out of the lead.
Sometimes I hold the reins
and most times they are in the hands of God,
but never shall my reins be in the hands of another,
this is what I drank over
and this is what I could drink over again.
No one person is my salvation
and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise.
If you consume me like a drink,
I will kill you as surely as any drug.