Wrapped up in red
and tied with silver
a small painting
you made in school

Given with a smile
and a whole lot of love
Van Gogh's Sunflowers
don't hold a torch to this

I may not be a mother
nor a sister
nor an aunt
I may not have family to visit

But ...

7 years old
you prove so well
that family do not have
to share blood

I need to write you a letter
its content will hurt you
I'm sure
But there are words that need to be voiced
Pain that has rattled around in my soul
for five decades left unsaid

Your end is near
four months they said
that was almost three hundred days back
You are holding on
by the strength of your will
and here I come to rock your boat

Or will I

Am I so sure what I need to air
will bring a storm to your port
Perhaps this is just me clinging to hope
like a castaway hangs on to a plank
I have always wanted with all of my heart
to know you loved me, your daughter

Maybe I need to accept once and for all that you don't
because you don't know how to

or maybe you don't want to

Should I write my letter I ask myself
as I let my thoughts flow onto this page
What is there to gain if you will not talk
you have always refused to engage in the past
You know you have little time left
but why should this be a reason to change

Perhaps the time has come for me to say
'I release you, Pa'

and walk away …

lost

in the labyrinth
of memory

knocking

on doors that
cannot be opened

grasping

for fragments
forever out of reach

seeking

what can never
be recalled

knowing

you know
and yet you don't

so lost

in the moonlight of your life
your skin drapes loose over your bones
documenting your existence
and wrapping up memories
that you have determined will remain untold
leaving me wondering what you might have said
and now never will

wandering
through the shadows
of my childhood

trying
so hard
to create light from the darkness

reading
pain like Braille
all alone

listening
for laughter
hearing only tears

where
were you
when I reached out

looking
the other way
pretending all was well

ignoring
the bruises
deaf to my cries

running
is what I have been doing
three decades away from the land of my birth

hoping
that distance
would erase the past

pretending
it didn't happen
but it did

returning
at last
to look into the abyss

embracing
for the first time in fifty years
the sum total of who I am

giving
thanks for the past
for all that it is


looking
into the mirror
and finally seeing who is there

Confusion
enemy of sanity,
champion of creation.

Broken heart,
mended over time.
Laughter and tears
different sides of the same coin.

Lack of honesty
fear of transparency.
Living a lie,
fearing the truth.

Words run through my mind
like an uncontrollable train.
To say, or not?
To say or not?
Wheels going endlessly round.

Convert the energy
Into something more productive.
Would be sensible, no?

To the hell with sensibility.

Confusion reigns.

four sleeps
four more sleeps
and then that day arrives
the day
if you are not careful
that reminds you
of all you are not

you are not a mother
nor a sister
nor an aunt
you do not have family
you can go and visit

when you wake
on that day
there is no laughter echoing
nor  paper ripping
as presents are opened
before the kettle has boiled

instead
your house
echoes with emptiness
you will eat your turkey and trimmings alone
no debate about who sits where at the table
nor fights for supremacy of the remote control

please

do not be sad for me

reframe your matrix
the way I do

my heart beats with the gift of life
my memory is filled
with the richness of days gone by
and each moment I breathe
the only moment any of us has
is filled with belief and shaped by joy

I am not a mother
nor a sister
nor an aunt
I do not have family
I can go and visit
I will eat alone on Christmas Day

but what I am is me

and for that I am blessed
as you are for being you