I reviewed exact words with my sponsor,
then went and knocked on her door. Told her how,
sober, I pictured her nights of terror—
not knowing what monster lurked, form embowed
like a hunchback, soon to rage through our rooms,
an insane storm. Explained I no longer
explode as beast, now work for peace, assume
roles of quiet service, thanks to stronger
spirit deep within, gift of our breathing
universe. She took it better than I’d
hoped. (Not everyone has.) On my leaving,
I’d descend steps of her new home, sad pride’s
crust of crushed dust stuffed in my pocket. Say
to myself, This is the easier way.
Roger Armbrust
March 30, 2010
