February 25
SOD
Green and black, pinwheels of rolled grass speed by me on a
flatbed. Sod headed for home. That is how it is for me. I grew in a place of impermanence, a place
clearly not my destination. Uprooted and
prepared for relocation, I am in transition.
My future surroundings, unknown, will be a perfect fit. I have been anticipated, grown for a purpose,
of which I am uninformed. I have done my
part. I am ready to lay down my roots
and become a lawn of seamless expanse.
Somewhere my Higher Power is grading a hill, smoothing the way. I am ready to take my place in the landscape
of sober living and right thinking.
Advocate for the
sweetness inside you.
*
Cured
Ham is cured.
Thank God I’m not ham.
Ham likes to be the center of attention.
Thank God, I’m not ham.
I can’t be the worker among workers
if I believe I don’t need to work.
I can’t be a friend among friends
if I am an island or a precipice,
above or away from the need or reach of others.
Cured is a one way street
that leads to a dried up lonely end.
Just the same way that turning my cucumber
into a pickle took me out of the garden,
Curing takes me away
from the only home I know, recovery.
Though I am often raw and sometimes fresh,
these I can survive,
Finished due to the drying out process
that would be a living death.
Thank God I’m not cured.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
