December 24
Scalene
Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it. I have looked longingly at oddness and every
skewed thing. Though I try to divert my
gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again. Strange attractors have an unexplainable
beauty to me. The wane charisma digs its
hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide. What does this say of me, I am not sure? What does it say of the sidelong loves of
mine? Volumes, I think it speaks
volumes, all of it unknown to me.
Collect friendly faces
*
WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS
AWAY
shoes and socks
old post cards
tennis balls with no more
bounce
memories that have lost
their fun
dreams left in the box
earrings with the clasp
askew
things I’ve said
dead thoughts, too
stacks of books
letters written
tender feelings
wonder---smitten
the pain is left
and runs around wildly
my face is stained
and left untidy
I can never fill the space
Which hope leaves behind it
The stage is dark
And everything quiet
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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