1. Sheryl Doiron
Lighthouse Blueprints
While each person’s life quest may appear to be different at first glance, the first page of each
chapter of everyone’s book always returns to the blueprint. Authority figures lay part of the
framework that will eventually carry us around as we go through life on our own. The blueprint
for our whole life is written on the child’s blank slate. Some written in chalk, others etched
deeply into the surface.
As young adults we begin our journeys with our blueprinted slate tied around our necks, not
noticing yet that they are even there. While it has been there forever we often have not attempted
to decipher what has been written on it. After all, all those Authors that left their mark upon it
must have known what was best to include in our blueprint. Authorities leave the truth behind,
don’t they? They are the Architects.
***
Etching
Dove grey wool and little pink ribbons, so pretty
squirm as mommy takes it out of the dresser bigger than me
stand as quick as a jack-in-the-box, lift a knee
hold in my breath, and count to thrɘɘ
cover up the stripes of purple and blue
hold breath, stand still, nearly through.
Curls so tight they catch pearl buttons, nothing new
hold breath, stand still, it’s only a few
well look at that as sweet as pie
hold breath, stand still, try not to cry
hand grasped and stretched arm tries to keep nearby
hold breath, run fast, wear wool in July.
***
Listen to the Rainbow
Listen is the word which appears most often on my blueprint. It was deeply engraved and
peppered throughout my slate during the laying of the cornerstone. Listen to the sudden
unevenness of step and know red is coming, tinged with black. Listen to the red from concrete
kisses when you walk too slowly up the street. Listen to the whispers of shades of grey from
those on the street as your legs work hard to keep the pace.
Listen to instructions, you never get them right. Instructions are tricky, they change all the time.
Listen to the color of white as the stars dance before your eyes.
Listen to leather on wood, the sound of purple and blue as it sings its way through the air. Listen
to the color black when teacher writes 95 on the corner of your page and you have to bring it
home. Listen to the joy of the children playing outside the window of your elephant pink

2. bedroom as you escape to magical worlds within black and white pages from inside your
blueprint walls.
***
Changing of the Color Guard
The blueprint is often decorated with splotches of color that make up part of its complex and
detailed plan, their architect a color guard. When I was 15 there was a changing of the guard. At
first I had thought the cell door had swung open and I would at last be free outside the pages of
black and white. I was for a time. When it changed I can pinpoint almost to the very color of the
sky on that day and the color of the darkened room we rented in the basement. The change of the
color guard. Pink, blue, red, black, grey, white, and the tan color that is leather.
Pink the tank top which announced the new watchman’s reign. Black his rage when I took it
back out of the black garbage bag. The red and black of righteous anger flashing in the dim light.
Black his rage when I walked instead of bending. Blue his lips as the tan of the belt met the dark
wooden beams which suspended him from his neck, so tanned from days in the sun. Red as my
anger and fear took over and I pummelled his tan belly. White my panic as he fell from his
pendulum to the grey cement floor. Blue his eyes as they cried and his lips returned to pink. Pink
at the bottom of the black garbage bag. Two blue lines on the white stick on the bedside table.
See the world turn greyer every day; the only spots of color are blonde haired, blue eyed beauties
running in the sunshine. Moments of joy within the blueprint walls. Day pass trips to the grocery
store, park, beach and sandy camp grounds. Orange as the bonfire makes white marshmallows
golden brown. Kaleidoscope birthday parties and Christmas wrapping paper. Tanned little arms
and legs poking out of white diapers. Rainbows on clotheslines flapping in the summer breeze.
Fluffy mounds of white for sliding. Black polka dots between the colors as the color guard
patrols and keeps close eye on his charge. Black garbage bag fairies make off with your clothes
when you aren’t looking. They gaiety of music and laughter so bright and light, pink and blue,
yellow and purple as blonde haired, blue eyed beauties are swung in circles. Bright white smiles
as children are thrown high into the air as they roughhouse and receive the guard’s only light.
You receive a few here and there just to be sure you can never tell what color comes next.
Friends come and leave behind shades of grey when they go, never to return. Only the most
faithful of visitors take the time to visit those in prison walls of the blueprint. Blue and purple
appear on pale skin from time to time when the color guard decides to crack down on all his
charge’s internal light. He looks so nice in purple, blue, and red himself. Matching pairs.
Red searing hot as it seizes joints and twists them. This doesn’t sway the color guard. Always
something to be done, nothing as potent as red could ever interfere. Blonde haired, blue eyed
beauties so big and tall, nearly grown. Grey so deep it is nearly black when seen from horizontal
on the faded brown couch 18 hours a day, broken only by searing red. Kaleidoscope worlds of
video games and black and white pages within the blueprint walls the only escape.
The cleansing of the fire on a cold winter’s night heating the words between the keeper and kept.
Sparkle of tarnished silver as she picks the key from within his heart and opens the cell door.
Stepping out into the light of the world the color guard changes.

3. ***
Vows of Disenchantment
For better or worse, or so you did say
but the better days you promised got lost along the way.
A promise made to love and cherish
but instead you belittled and insulted until my self-esteem it perished.
For richer or for poorer that vow you also made
but our riches you spent upon your trinkets and the bills did not get paid.
In sickness and in health the commitment you did make
but when illness came you showed disdain and you’d have left me to my grave.
To have and to hold that was your pledge
but you held too tight and with all my might from your prison I did take flight.
What God hath joined, man put asunder.
***
Labels
You know you have an interesting blueprint when you peer closely to read the labels. Labels,
labels, everywhere so many different colors. Hunter orange, fluorescent yellow, red. Everyone
knows you must pay close attention to the labels, you see, it’s the only way to be sure you don’t
accidentally ingest something toxic. So many labels. Are they really all necessary? Wouldn’t one
or two suffice? The guys with the white coats disagree. The bringer of life and the color guard
are tattoo artists.
Warning Hibernating Bear: Do not attempt to remove the bear from its cave before it is ready.
Attempts to remove the bear may result in loss of limb. The bear feels safest in its darkened cave
and is happy where it is. It’s scary outside in the light. Agoraphobia, a prison blueprint’s best
friend.
Caution Sky Is Falling: Falling objects may rain down at any moment and cause serious injury.
Meteorologists predict imminent incoming unknown objects at any moment. Run for your life.
Stand and fight. Anxiety and panic disorder, PTSD (Party Time for Sheryl Doiron) Chicken
Little’s got nothing on you chickie!
Unpredictable Weather Conditions Advisory: Violent earth quakes, rain, sleet, hail, sunshine,
intense heat, and blizzard warning all scheduled for the immediate area by noon. Don’t worry,
the weatherman doesn’t know what’s going on either. Approach at your own risk, this
foundation’s unstable. Updates upon the quarter hour.

4. Zombie Warning: Zombies may appear every year or two within the area for up to three months
at a time. Be on the lookout for glassy-eyed stunned walkers from the hours of 6:00am to
4:00am. Zombies are great; they just mean you can enjoy the sky falling, bad weather, and stay
protected indoors for longer periods.
Please be Advised-Magic Mirror on the Wall: Carnival mirrors may affect the perception of the
viewer and cause hallucinations in perception of self. This one makes my ass look wide. That
one makes my nose seem big. Oooh that one makes me short and fat. These mirrors can appear
anywhere, they’re fucking magic. They often pop up in changing rooms all over the country. All
these clothes look funny on me, I don’t think I’ll buy any of them and just wear what I have. The
mirror is so magical the effects of the hallucinations last all day long.
Please Lock Door on Exit: Ok, I did. Or did I? Maybe I didn’t. I better check. Aww dammit,
there’s a spot on the counter. Damn kids and their toast crumbs all over the floor. Why do these
couch cushions keep moving? I better check the fire alarm before I go; ok it works. Now that I
know it works I better unplug the toaster in case it catches on fire. Did I leave the dryer on? May
as well throw clothes in the wash while I am down here. Why is there lint on the cement floor.
Well I may as well fold all this while I’m down here. Hang on kids, gotta put this away then we
can go. For the love of God why are the bedcovers a mess? Aww, there’s water on the floor, may
as well wash all three stories and get it over with. Did I check the fire alarm? Look…so rushed I
forgot to wash the counter. Yes, yes, I’m ready, just let me check the back door. Oh look, the
towels on the line are dry, may as well fold them while I’m out here and put them away. Ha..look
at that, toothpaste in the sink, just a minute kids just cleaning the bathroom. Why is the kitchen
counter dirty? Seven Hours Later. Wait, I don’t think I locked the door.
The great thing about labels is that once you realize they are only stickers applied to you by
others, you can just peel them right off and take a look around. Removing them may reveal
you’re just surrounded by assholes. As with zombie infestations, take down as many as you can
and get the hell to safer ground. The only labels left are the one I applied myself: Asshole
Repellant 100% Satisfaction Money Back Guarantee. Survivor Season 39.
***
Fear’s Time
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock, its chime you choose not to hear.
With your delay, the game you play, down fate’s path you do steer.
No annual test, you do protest, the doctors you do fear.
And at the date, you procrastinate, and decide to not draw near.
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock, your life is yet long you think,
No tests again, this year my friend, into your destiny you do sink.
You think you’re smart, with all your heart and so you do avoid,
Your body’s secret it does keep, and time slips into the void.
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock, your time it does draw near.
You feel fine, you say, there’s no reason at all to fear.

5. I will not go, as long as my blood still flows,
And to your word you do adhere.
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock, you chose not to behave.
Step by step you do advance, slowly to your grave.
You finally cave and run to do, that which you should have done.
Your pain is great, the time has come for your stubbornness to waive.
Tick-tock, tick-tock says the clock, the reaper stands nearby,
Now in misery you do wallow, and so many tears you cry.
Why’d you wait, it’s now too late, and all you’ve done is sealed your fate,
The time you thought was long, you see, does tend to fly by.
Tick-tock, tick-tock says the clock, your time is now here.
Through your fear, you chose not to steer or hold your life oh so dear,
The reaper he does stand, and comes to bring you to the wasteland.
Your foolish game you did play, solely out of fear.
Tick-tock, tick-
***
IT’S ALIVE!
Blackness. Blips of machinery are the first thing to enter my consciousness. Eyelids require the
strength of a hydraulic jack to pry them open. Too much work. Rest. Whispers in the darkness.
Giggles and a familiar voice in with some from sources unknown. I open my eyes to the bright
light hesitantly and become aware of the ache deep within my right side. Movement out of the
corner of my right eye catches my attention. I turn my head slowly to the right.
“Happy Birthday!” says Renee and her daughter Cassandra.
“It’s not her birthday,” says a lady in scrubs.
“Oh, yes it is,” Renee says.
The nurse looks at the chart attached to the foot of the bed clearly confused as tears of joy begin
to flood my sleepy eyes and blur the stark, white room. I notice the foil helium birthday balloon
tied to the side of my bed.
“Let’s crack outta here and go celebrate your first day alive!” Renee says. “We’ll go grab a bottle
of rum, stop at the fire station and see if we can get the sexy fireman to give you a striptease.”
The nurse looks concerned for her patient’s health. “She’ll not be going anywhere for the next
few days. And your birthday is in May; it’s June 11th.”

6. My side throbs and my throat burns from the tubes that were recently used during surgery. “I
left the black and grey on the table with the cancer. I went in dead. I was born today,” I said.
“And look at that hair, straight out of a zombie movie,” says Renee as I drift off to sleep.
The black of cancer, disease of the body. The black of a toxic past, equally deadly. Labels,
labels, everywhere. The wizard extraordinaire (who lives in the tower masked by the façade of
Moncton Hospital) erased the black spots; the dark blue and purple. He peeled off the labels and
used them to bind the darkness and banish them forever. Spots of grey may cloud the baby blue
skies from time-to-time but they are no longer etched in the blueprint of my life. Keep your
labels, I don’t need them.
While most people would say cancer is the harbinger of death, I say it is blueprint
decontaminator and life giver. I welcomed it to absorb all the blackness in my life and contained
it within its spreading mass. I let the surgeon suspend me in death and cut out the darkness you
left deep inside. Take your darkness back, I don’t need it anymore, it belongs to you.
***
The Lighthouse
I looked down at my blueprint one day and saw it written there. Why couldn’t I see it before?
The lines so filled with labels and colors had made it indistinguishable. The sign of safety to
those lost in the darkness, the beacon.
I sat in the dark and saw the dinghies on rough seas, cast out and blindly searching for the light
and noticed they always found their way to it somehow, weighed down from carrying the
darkness as far as they could and nearly sinking. The secrets and darkest fears they tell no one all
pour out and are laid upon the jagged rocks around the lighthouse’s base like unintended graffiti.
Clouds of blackness like toxic smog which threatens to extinguish from time to time. Their
sticky residue left behind when the light is too bright and threatens to destroy them. They wait
until the light seems dimmest to lay their assault only to find the task not nearly as easy as they
had hoped. The lighthouse stands strong and casts its beacon.
The lighthouse stands alone on its foundation of jagged rocks. Alone in the dark. The darkness a
heavy mantle which rests on its shoulders. It presses in upon the glass which looks so fragile but
has held it at bay since its creation. Fixed to the rocks, unmoving, standing where it must to
guide those in peril. It stands alone.
The beacon dims. It sees no light other than its own. It alone seems to hold back the darkness
from its assigned point. It has heard from the lost ones more like it exists but has never seen one.
Lighthouses stand alone as givers of the light. Some threaten to extinguish its beacon for
eternity. Others are so lost they don’t see the light at all and wander aimlessly lost at sea forever.
Some borrow a little light to get them through the rough seas.

7. Every once in a while the lighthouse catches a spark when it is at its most dim. The lighthouse
thinks the flame is finally another lighthouse. Usually it’s just some sailor who caught his skiff
on fire with a match and the lighthouse beacon burns a little brighter for a while. Architects who
try to repair blueprints of their own gain inspiration after seeing it stand upon its foundation of
granite expelling the darkness.
I discovered that the technicolor blueprint written by my creators formed that of a beacon; the
giver of light. I encounter those who are at their darkest moments even when I do not recognize
how close they are to crashing into the rocks. They borrow a little. Every blue moon someone
gives me a spark when I threaten to burn out. They try to squelch my light and fail. I see no other
lighthouses…only those lost in the dark, those who are the darkness, or those who don’t see the
darkness at all. I am the lighthouse.
WANTED
ONE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER. APPLY WITHIN.