Bruised and battered,
propped up against the Western Wall,
I curl into myself,
each breath a painful labour.
I wait for the hurt to subside.
Like the sun,
time will fade the fabric
and leave a sepia imprint on my heart.
Time will dull the ache.
Time takes time.
Then they come.
Individually they come.
Not the Samaritans,
who would wordlessly bind these wounds,
carry me to comfort at personal cost.
No, the Crusaders come.
Unlocking the word
they tear out teachings,
recite them at me
and push them deep into each chink in my soul.
I wince as they poke raw flesh
and open what was closing.
Satisfied the preachers turn, casting about for a new pulpit.
Closing my eyes I sink into fitful slumber
and cry in my sleep.
A grey lethargy crept up from behind,
and wrapped his clammy fingers
around my neck.
I only noticed when his grip began to tighten
ever so slightly,
Gasping, I found the air thick as gelatine.
Closing leaden lids
I fell into sleep
and wondered why we ever bother to awake.
The line between lucidity and lunacy is like a feral cat —
thin, grey and fuzzy.
One minute curled up in a comfy ball
purring louder than the daily Dubai jet.
The next minute arched back, wild eyes, fur like a prickly pear,
intentionally slashing with two inch claws.
Sometimes it just takes a nudge
to go over the edge.
Frequent visits will often lead to permanent residence
where the line is erased
and the wild cat finds quarters in the head.
That line —
in a jabby dialogue —
Think I should explain this little ditty.
Hands up, who has seen Back to the Future?
Great stuff, right?
My daughters and I often quote favourite movie lines back and forth.
A line from Back to the Future which is stuck in my head is George McFly’s:
“Lorraine, I am your density.”
That line altered “destiny” for me. :)
Every time I hear “destiny” my mind substitutes “density.”
And vise versa.
just writing, poem
And so the rain comes,
a welcome relief,
coinciding with your passing.
above my head,
which discloses a leaky roof,
keeps me awake.
Rain patters on leaves
breaking tension, ending drought
much like heavy tears
My eyes annoyingly leak an ocean.
What was it like, Dad, this passage?
Was it like slipping into sleep?
Falling from a height?
Can you see your life from above now,
A package, a play, a journey, a symphony?
Is there a place for regrets, redemption, reality?
Do you know what’s left behind?
Do you hunger for what you’ve lost?
Do the things which held you in life bind you in death?
Dear man, I hope you’ve found the rest you so arduously sought all your days.
Meanwhile you’ve left behind a mangled mess that was your walk on earth. As always others have to clean up after you.
And this damned salty sea keeps getting in the way.