peace

When did this sense of separation begin?



I hear a fire being stoked, which was actually a scream.

I feel the top ribs of a cello pushed into my sternum.

I remember an easel at the dinner table.

I remember the applause to a rendition of Ravel’s Tzigane.

I remember a lunchbox with coronation chicken and no crisps.

I remember wondering how I would keep blue hair a secret.

I remember a wine cellar ripening and never being in the mood to celebrate.

I remember sliding down the banister at six o’clock.


…and when will it end?


When will I stop marking out my territory like a cat on heat?

When will I be able to share a breakfast table without clenching my teeth?

When will I be able to feel as expansive in a peopled room as I do in the desert?


When, oh when, will I stop being so afraid and when will there be peace in this warring heart of mine?


I sit in the candlelight at the end of the family line. There is only me left to change this holding pattern - no child to whom I can offer a different experience nor anyone to change. I feel it. I keep breathing. I let the tears flow. I observe them....

I am not my tears, I am a breathing body and they are a river running through me.