I let the words die on my finger tips for days, weeks, months, years; failed attempts to staunch the bleeding, to curb the sentences and story lines that ripped through my skin in the small hours of early morning wounds opened, reopened until I no longer recognized the person staring back at me from the page.

It is the lie I tell myself when I lay awake at four o’clock in the morning with a story racing around in my mind and I do nothing but lie in the darkness, kneading the pillow with my knuckles and praying to fall asleep. The words never die. Instead they wait. Wait in the shadows, the corners and sidewalks where the street lights don’t quite reach. Patient bastards. Unsent letters, threads and ideas huddled together, creeping closer and plotting.

Eight cups of coffee measure my day. What will I use to measure the night? Lines, pages, piles.

The kettle boils. Jasmine tea brews, and I bend my head towards the light, ready to bleed in black ink.

~

I am the silence in between

The torn sky after the storm

Clouds and sunshine peeking through

I am the calling after a hundred years

Wandering in the mountain folds

Where earth bleeds to grow wildflowers

I am the mother

Guarding wings until they are dried

From the tears of living

Flight comes in that moment of knowing

I am the left behind

The problem solver, the singer of songs waiting

Mender of broken cups and threads

I heard the path calling, the no and the wall

And yet I gave compassion a patch of fertile ground

To grow

Some are too far gone to care

Their trees barren and unforgiving

They can rot in a dying town

Two roads met and I took to the trees

To find the light

A hawk flew down over me today

So close he could have landed

Today part of my flew with him

Tomorrow more will go

Until all that will be left

Is a heartbeat

Before dawn breaks

~ August 1 2015

laying hedge
against the wind
carefully bend me
to weave through branches
living wall gather rain
and butterfly wings
I cannot think of anything else
I need more

~
April 2015

without a word
I could leave
fade into shadows
at the end of another day
much like others have done
but I won’t
I won’t
knowing the pain
silence causes
the ache disappearing
turns and the waiting
breaking of it
leaves a scar
that never heals
indifference
a poison slowly killing me
no.
take your fanfare
your bandaid pulling excuse
the backward plea
and sheepish after thought
I instead
steady on

~

rumours of spring play along the branches
and garden edges
birds wrestle with the cool morning mist
and I slowly make my way to the end
of the driveway

sunlight does not reach here until
rising still above rooftops and trees
I will be gone before the first ray hits
leaving only an empty space
of where I used to be

dreams heavy stillin my mind
while I am turning the corners
merging traffic
coffee stains on the dashboard
moving life to start the day again

town gives way to field
winding highway
city limits and traffic light waiting
this is what I have become
with only radio for company

stopped waying for a sign to lift
another train to pass
turn up the music
and hope for more tomorrow
another day to fly

~

eight cups of coffee measure the day
lined up on the table among the newspapers and magazine clippings
i sat endlessly flipping between sips
not sure what I was looking for
except to find maniacal comfort in the glossy pages and
frankenstein faces plastered there
and then the ripping –
pages torn out for a word, a look, a leaf, a colour
in precarious piles at my feet
i should find an envelope for them
a sleek, simple place to put this chaos
i should stop the coffee pot from boiling over
leaving garish brown stains across the stove again
i should drink more water
i should remember to eat
i should go for a walk
i should…
Wait – another crystalline sky reflected in a still lake
azure, emerald, diamond
know thy self,
be,
freedom
love
love
me

~