January 9
IN A BACKWATER
There is a place so removed, uninspired, ignorance
flourishes. I hate to go there. I avoid it when I can. Today I could not
avoid it. Today I saw the gable end of a
small barn, half hidden in the scrub trees.
On the face of the gable end are two plywood cutouts, large, taking up
the major portion of the space. The
first cutout is a budgie, a bright blue parakeet, 7 or 8 feet tall. Tilted to its side, it looks dyslexic, but intriguing. Above it is a cutout of a black guitar,
similar length, hanging long ways across the top, almost from eave to
eave. I don’t know what it means, why
they are there, who could have put them there.
A story’s tongue is
sticking out at me; I can hardly bear it.
I think of God, and laugh. If my
God has nothing better to do than tease me, I need a better God. I think of my Higher Power and wonder if the
power is curious, too. Am I overlapping
a layer of consciousness I have no part in?
Is this a subliminal preview of my future? Or am I far too nosy for my own good? My sponsor says the latter. I just don’t know. It could be something all together
different. I have only time. Time will tell in the end; it always
does. I hate to wait.
Compare and
contrast eggplant and green beans.
*
Crestfallen
“Whoa is me,
I have crested the rise only
to slide down the other side.
Hard work and determination culminated in victory
but alas it was short lived.
Success is barely meaningful if it isn’t permanent.
Poor, poor dear,
I will have to strive once more
at the face of a new challenge or even worse
might have to make another run at this one.
How shall I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles.
“Are you learning to be amused at yourself
or hoping to bring back melodrama to the everyman?”
She queries.
“A little of both I think,
whining is a consolation to me,
” I reply.
“It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me,
but even nicer that you have let your achievements
teach you to laugh at your mishaps,”
said my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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