Twice travelled road
I wanted them off the dead bodies.
Away from the unburied
mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, children.
I wanted them dead.
And I wanted the killers of the dead
dead too.
It lit up the room
and made my soul sing
but no one saw it but me.
I tasted the future,
And loved the rhythm of
a beat that used to be mine.
You were neon pink
on a bright sunny day in the rain
You were the box telly we hit on and off,
the one which chose which channel we'd watch
or if colour was an option for the day.
Amidst you we heard the drunken rooks nesting in the trees behind the house,
locals telling stories and falling from their perches.
You were the elastic band I wore round the crown of my head when we climbed the windmill stairs.
As if I would take off and fly!
There I stood in my turquoise dungarees with a purple patch pocket,
clutching a Kimberley biscuit, grinning
like a puppy gone shany
or helium sucked up through a birthday balloon,
left speechless on the floor, delighted by it all and delighted by nothing,
but life.
The womb beyond the mother waits,
Glowing embers in hearth, warm milk simmering in a pan.
A shared space, as I shared in my own nine month turn, each with their nurturing, warmth, feeding and care.
Time to be rather than do or be done,
Space to see more than to look or be seen
A den of blankets, cushions, duvets, pillows, sheets, snugs, hugs, kisses and cuddles.
No rules, except the rules: kind hands, kind feet, kind words.
To all equal.
To all my heart.
To all my everything.
My hearth, my home.
