October 18
MY HEROINE
The corpse that is my childhood is mine to protect from the
wolves and rats of denial and collusion.
The infant who commits suicide in self-defense is my heroine. The pure thinking of an uncluttered mind
seizes on the only possible way for me to survive. Her death at her own hand is my rescue. If the bad had killed her I would have died
with her. In her plan, I was left as the
seed she ejected in her assent. She is
gone from this place; I feel her only as the wisp of memory. The tiny body laid flat on the carpet, her
pressed pinafore somehow more alive than she, is the unfinished business of
prevention. As long as I see her there
and do not walk away from my responsibility and never forget she protected me
with the life she never lived, I am free to live this life.
Throw ice cubes up
for God to catch.
*
Earl Grey is not my Friend
Scabby knees is what I look for;
I need to be with those who climb,
not those who slide.
I hate to say it, but looking cool
and sitting on the sidelines
does nothing for me or my sobriety.
I have to build those calluses,
require patches in my clothes,
carry a hammer to pound in those spikes.
If I don’t see tools in your hands
and bodily evidence that you have been using them,
I really don’t have time for you.
This is a “let’s go, lets go” kind of recovery for me
and if it isn’t for you then have fun
and I hope you have a good seat,
but I am not staying for your tea party;
I have no time for tarts.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
