Sea Glass & Sandstone

Wading in the sea glass and the sandstone,
look for the place where you used to stand,
thinking back to every time we came here.

An image of you returns.
I cannot remove that image from my mind;
you continue haunting
my life, my mind, and this place of our own.

Wading with only beautiful memories of you,
hearing the bombs fall,
my heart and my mind yearn to see you again.

Sacrament

This piece is about my late Father, a paranoid schizophrenic, and me, the one who could not break free from his words and the feelings of guilt I felt for him until I was 20.

A visible symbol of the reality of God,
the sacrament awaits a blessing from the priest.

Veiled and obedient, you take the Eucharist without question;
the closest you will get to god as an imperfect woman.

You sit down veiled, hidden, obedient, and controlled;
you must kneel beside father, as he whispers, ‘You are possessed’.

The veil hides the shame of what you know; that you do not believe the words your father speaks, and you do not believe the man at the altar.

The burden of knowledge and your quiet nature hides the truth inside;
Does your father know that you do not believe in his paranoia and lies?

You walk home beside your father as you have done for so long.
Caged by your father; no friends, no one to call, no home, no family.

The walls close in as he offers you a glass of milk, then speaks to you for six hours about your possession, secret government plots, and your mother.

You know no way to break free from this cage; there isn’t much left, and all you have is rage.

A burning fire to succeed, to be free of him, and to be free of his words and his schizophrenia.

Luck finds you in the form of education.

You break free from his cage, only to discover it was never the man at
the altar that you hated; it was the man who stood by your side: your father.

Dripping with Curiosity

The door you can never enter,
intricate patterns carved into the door.
A child should be seen and not heard,
so you dared never enter the wooden door.

Older, you arrive at the house from long ago;
no longer a child, yet you have the heart of a child.

No longer afraid, you are dripping with curiosity.
To hell with it, you whisper,
then turn the handle and walk into the room.

Your Grandmother sits at her desk,
within a room of dreams and magic,
‘I wondered when you would join me.’

You smile and take the stars within your hands;
now you are ready for your mother’s secrets.

‘You have always been a witch, and now it is time to become one. Welcome to the heart of our coven, my beautiful Granddaughter.
I wish your mother could see this day, yet you know she still lingers.’

Leave a Note

One day I’ll forget
you,
me,
mum,
dad,
my sister,
my brother,
what we did,
what made me,
what made us,
this unique land.

Leave a note here,
place a note there,
post-it note me
like I’m a fashionista
from Paris, if you must.

Leave enough notes,
stick them on the fridge,
place them on toilet rolls,
put them in my shoes,
hide them in the undies
so I can remember
you and
so I can remember
me.