March 14
Patricide
I never killed my father.
Why finish a job that someone is completing all on his own. It’s not that I didn’t wish him dead; I did
and do for that matter. Don’t
misunderstand me, I wish him no harm, it’s just that he is like a creature so
tortured that he is nothing but a danger and a misery. Left to live he is a hazard to everyone he
has contact with, an agony to live inside.
What can I wish for him, but departure and rest, something he can never
give to himself. I don’t plot, don’t
scheme, I only know; know in part, the terrible lie he lives and hurt he drags
from place to place acting like it is not there and nothing matters; let’s just
get by. So, if he is not dead he should
be. He is the embodiment of the hurtful
impotent god and I don’t kill that man but I kill the image, perish that
thought.
Provide for the future of your sanity
*
PRETTY FEET
I look at the line on my heel
Where I must stay vigilant with pumice and the moisturizer
My toes clean and straight but nothing more.
I see my feet as passable, it's hard to see them as beautiful,
Well cared for is the best I can do
But there is a beauty in that.
I think of myself,
I am an alcoholic
There is nothing beautiful about alcoholism either.
The care I take in tending my sobriety
The nurturing I see others use in their own lives
There is a certain loveliness to it.
Crusted over hearts
Scraped and oiled
Fit and ready to beat anew.
Polluted minds, drained and reformed
To turn lives upright
Step work and making meetings
Is just a functionary thing
But gorgeous in its own way
Efficacy is a pearl not to be disregarded.
I look at the line on my heel
Where I must stay vigilant with pumice and the moisturizer
My toes clean and straight but nothing more.
I see my feet as passable, it's hard to see them as beautiful,
Well cared for is the best I can do
But there is a beauty in that.
I think of myself,
I am an alcoholic
There is nothing beautiful about alcoholism either.
The care I take in tending my sobriety
The nurturing I see others use in their own lives
There is a certain loveliness to it.
Crusted over hearts
Scraped and oiled
Fit and ready to beat anew.
Polluted minds, drained and reformed
To turn lives upright
Step work and making meetings
Is just a functionary thing
But gorgeous in its own way
Efficacy is a pearl not to be disregarded.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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