Kate Daniels: Getting Clean
i
You can boil yourself down
to the rudiments, all the way
to the very bottom, and sit there
pruning yourself to the compact form
of a bouillon cube, its salty bite
stuffed tight inside, and still
be suffused with mindless craving…
ii.
On the bad days, he said, before
I even get out of bed I have to pray.
I asked him if he would mind
telling me what he prayed for.
I just say, “Help. Help me.
Could you help me get out of bed…”
iii.
In the middle of the meeting, an old timer suddenly
yelled out, “Sit down and suffer, and shut the hell up.”
iv.
Hate to tell you:
the torment might
not dissipate. And
though you think
it might have sunk,
don’t be fooled. It’s
not a ship. Think:
tumor. Still alive,
still growing. After
treatment, if you’re
lucky, slightly shrunk.
v.
Shrunk or unshrunk,
the new thinking says
that craving lives on
hoarding its power.
Even the addicts
who are atheists
learn this lesson:
There is something
bigger than they are,
and unlike them,
it lives forever.
Copyright 2018 Kate Daniels. From In the Months of My Son’s Recovery, by Kate Daniels. Forthcoming from LSU Press (2019)
