(April-May 1997)
Sixteen years ago
in treatment for alcoholism,
attendance at art therapy
was “suggested”.
I was arrogant and stubborn.
I want to stop drinking,
not draw(swear word) pictures.
Today I found a piece of my artwork,
like a drawing made by a child.
And that is exactly what I was,
a bewildered infant lost, fearful and alone,
my arrogance, mere defence.
I had painted a long, winding road,
dark, threat-laden sky,
and far in the impossible future
a clump of yellow primroses
in the sun, a bright yellow circle
in the top right hand corner.
Today I am standing next to them
and the sun is real.
journeyintopoetry 