February 6
Two Powers
The river and the bridge; one force swift and roiling the
other stolid and stoic, the first carries me away and the other carries me
over. For the love of liquid, current
and life I have slipped in to the water and washed; my life abandoned. For love of upright contact, terra bound
movement I cross the bridge. Will I be deposited in the Ocean or wend to the
City and back? Where is the greater
power in Surrender or Choice?
Ignorance and greed are the same thing aren’t they?
*
THE SEAMLESS DOOR
Tongue and groove fit tight.
The pickled boards belie the passage.
Hinges buried deep
Secreted inside the place with no words.
The door remains shut, hidden.
The air, candy sweet.
The space, filled with the unbroken stream
Of surreal childhood.
What can I tell you of this living snapshot?
Nothing but haltings
Stops and shutters
Of a life encapsulated.
Proudly, I walk from this train wreck
Only to find the tether stitched
To my heart,
My soul, my mind.
Flashing through the room,
I weary and wonder.
I have often found myself outside this confusing destination
But never have I seen the door.
Always, I believe this time I am free of it.
When I find myself again within this realm
I know it is something
I cannot be parted from.
Then what of the door?
The undetected portal
Was spied by me one day
While it swung in the breeze.
I saw the simple barn
And the open loft door.
I never thought my incubus to be housed
In so plain a construction.
There the turmoil of my forward motion
Stored in the attic of the pony shed.
So may tragic contrivances
Are stored in such candid spots
Accessibility is the beginning of approach.
I take the stairs.
Tongue and groove fit tight.
The pickled boards belie the passage.
Hinges buried deep
Secreted inside the place with no words.
The door remains shut, hidden.
The air, candy sweet.
The space, filled with the unbroken stream
Of surreal childhood.
What can I tell you of this living snapshot?
Nothing but haltings
Stops and shutters
Of a life encapsulated.
Proudly, I walk from this train wreck
Only to find the tether stitched
To my heart,
My soul, my mind.
Flashing through the room,
I weary and wonder.
I have often found myself outside this confusing destination
But never have I seen the door.
Always, I believe this time I am free of it.
When I find myself again within this realm
I know it is something
I cannot be parted from.
Then what of the door?
The undetected portal
Was spied by me one day
While it swung in the breeze.
I saw the simple barn
And the open loft door.
I never thought my incubus to be housed
In so plain a construction.
There the turmoil of my forward motion
Stored in the attic of the pony shed.
So may tragic contrivances
Are stored in such candid spots
Accessibility is the beginning of approach.
I take the stairs.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
