A memoir

His eyes, blue and glaring,

Are fixed on my feet,

I struggle and I twitch,

I cry and I plead.



Looking up, he smiles,

A crescent on his lips,

Uncertainty washes my hair,

Blood, my tongue.



‘Oh, don’t do this,’ I beg,

Tears tinge my cheeks,

A laugh escapes the crescent,

And it opens to speak.



‘I promise I won’t hurt you,

Do come to me,’

He kisses my neck and hands,

But for all, I can’t feel.



I look down at the world,

I look up at him,

On his edge, I stand, I could fall into his arms,

Maybe it wasn’t a whim



A step forward he takes, apology on his face,

A nudge on my back,

Ooh…I’m flying, but he pushed me the same,

I swear , I really do, that I didn’t run.

I ran and I ran
Trampling Anna’s strawberry field
The earth groping my heart
Naught beneath
The wind as it breathes
Panting against
The faint scent
Of strawberries
And I ran and I ran
Along the scent
Eyeing that orb
Gauging out some sky
Oh and the sky
Gazing and warning
Gently reminding
Consequences of an untimely return
Oh and time
From whom I rush
My dearest foe
My despised friend
And the strawberries,
Their sickly sweet
And their scarlet light
My eyes burn, they sting
Oh, but I must
So I run and I run
Till by a ridge, I fall
My head strokes the rock
And in the ache, I think
Of Anna’s little strawberry field
That though I ran,
I wish I’d just stood,
And breathed, some sickly sweet.