TIME IS HERE TO STAY
I have passed my days emptying them like breadcrumbs onto a trail of rescue. Expecting them to facilitate redemption, and if not that, at least retreat, I release an audible sigh as I let each evening slip to the path behind me. The future I view as a cliff I am nearing. I hope to be ransomed before the edge. I plan carefully how to stay in sync with revision; things must be resolved and revert. But this is not the way. The past is there to be mined. Inert gold, as well as land mines, linger beneath the surface; the days stream on. I am not nearing the limit; I am shrinking from hope. I turn my eyes from expectancy with a shudder. Deeply, I realize I must leave my fairytale life and walk away with my days in my pocket, a treasure that is mine to spend.
Tie a string around your hopes then let them go.
Does G-d arrange for my parking spot,
foil the Colts opponents,
release the stains from my dry-cleaning?
Can I ask for the petty and pedantic?
All One G-d Faith,
reads the side of the soap bottle,
but really is there only one?
Like Santa? The Tooth Fairy? OZ?
Is my life better or worse for the whimsy?
How would I know? Why would I care?
As long as I live with what I get most times,
it truly is okay to ask for what I want sometimes,
I mean hell, the Superbowl is only once a year.
I’m allowed to be unreasonable and happy.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault