So I’m carried along
and it’s slow and steady to begin with
but the path is smooth, man-made.
It’s ok, but I don’t get to choose where to go.
The ground becomes uneven
– it had to happen at some point I guess.
I feel the bumps and bounce around
I put my hands out now and then
finding the sides, the edges.
I don’t feel safe but
I close my eyes to make it better.
Suddenly there’s a jolt, bigger than before
and for a moment I’m weightless, with a feeling of freedom, a rush of euphoria;
then I’m on the floor and lancing pain rams through my brain.
Grit embedded in my knees,
and palms I can’t close;
it’s going to take ages to get the stones out
and I can’t do it in my own, not with damaged hands.
I look at the upturned wheelbarrow-
why did I ever think I’d be safe in that?
A bucket on a wheel that can’t even work on its own.
Materials, and stuff.
A life of payback.
Every word measured
and criticism round corners.
I long for that benign presence
I fight every day
ghosts, shadows, time
to be free of it all
Guilt buries deep
but always sought by judgement.
Alone in the dark,
we face shame
pray for absolution.
A creaking floorboard in an empty home.
I am what I am
Empty, yet full, ready to explode
Biting your tongue with no words left to say.
How certain we weave
our mesh of confidence
to contain the liquid of despair.
This place, of quiet mourning
it always makes me cry,
I visit their graves,
alone, two bodies lie.
Across the lines of stone
a couple silently
remove rabbit eaten flowers.
My Sister says hairspray deters them
I guess that’s some comfort in the dark hours.
I thought you wanted to be freer Dad?
A restless soul, at home on the sea
now all I see is decay
in a box, under ground.
I light a candle in the room you died Mum,
and watch the light across Eastern faces
and I think of a culture burning incense
so smoke can reach spiritual places
of ancestors to keep them whole.