the breakfast we never ate...
our bed still warm
waiting for the spoons to return

a voice  
     your little voice…

the table’s weight crashes to the ground…

none of this will return to what it  once was

your small tears can not fix this broken bowl

one song on repeat  

at least its a good one i think…

new bowls
other things to fill them...

how soon we have forgotten  
the bed that wasn’t ready to let us go

tears and laughter
we are broken

our day has just begun.

I fill my arms
    buying comfort
        trying to buy my certainty


there are dark seeds
    pushed into a corner

my arms are tired
            I have carried all this through the day

my feet are tired
            I have carried all this through my years


pushed into a corner they will wait

our home

      small boxes
                   larger boxes

dark corners

   our home


while they wait

i forget
             I forget to wake
                            I forget to make dinner

in the darkness

   there is comfort in forgetting

  
tendrils are spilling out of the cupboard

                 purple and white
                                     curling and searching

                                                 touching every dark corner

these seeds
        they have not forgotten
                                        to search



i will bury my  comfort and certainty in the yard

   we have out grown our boxes

                            searching for the light

she falls
she rolls
   she falls again
    
fragile     forgive
exposed    honest
forward    slowly


raw
    is her skin

paper in this damp salty air


take her with you
when you find her there

warm her
in your hearts fire

warm her
slowly

your gentle wind
will ignite her

resting volcano

she has come apart so many times now
her pieces lay where they may

pain
and
beauty

they are the same now

she is neither

fool
or
wise


woman
or
wildfire


sweet sweet slow learner

uncross your legs
untie
the knots of usury

take hold of the ground beneath you

she is you
she is me

she lives in the smallest of places

she is wild in excess

a fractured heart will blossom within her walls

colourful
vulnerable
willing
learning

slowly
   slowly
      slowly...

i found so many things under the stairs

boxes of my potential


boxes of my procrastination


boxes of all the threads i have stitched and unraveled

                                                                                        stitched
                                                                                                    and
                                                                                                         unraveled
                                              

    sure
     determined
      i tied all the knots



  frustrated
        less than
         I cut them all out



these threads bind me

  but to who?


a carefully packed self

under the stairs


each  time
         i arrive
            the boxes open  
                   the boxes remain
                         i will leave them when i go

these threads bind me
to the
questioning