Down the hill traversed so often
a well-known tree, though sometimes more.
Lacklustre to those who couldn’t know better.
Small. Simple. Secluded.

Oozing with possibility, endless realities.
This place is rich with significance.
Subtleties of every nook and cranny,
Familiar to me like the back of my hand.

No knock as I enter, though this isn’t my home.
Welcomed as one of their own.
United again my accomplice and friend
Ever ready to pick up where we left.

How can there be any care in the world?
When this world adapts to our will.
This place is for us and always will be.
For now, at least it would seem.

10 years on still sharp in my mind
how important a dull place can be.
Nostalgia, not always a comforting thing,
10 Verden Close – the last time I was free.


© Jordan Costigan

Rock hard butter rips holes in my toast.
Her hands do this flawlessly – but not today.

Beneath a mound of blankets, she lays
Completely still, though not asleep.

A smile crosses her lips, riddled with affliction
Thanks, but I’m not hungry, another day the same response.

Soon you’ll be a super mum –
Though right now it’s alright to be weak.

Until she is both father and mum –
I will keep her on her feet.

Now wipe your eyes and sit up please.
I won’t leave ‘til you eat.

A silent nod sends tears down her cheek –
Without you mum, there is no me.


© Jordan Costigan

How innocent. First thoughts like a child’s simplicity of mind.

Momentarily there is freedom.

Mere seconds this time. Freedom nonetheless.

There is something in the corner.

Looming.

Controlling.

Somehow forgotten in the ignorance of slumber. Suffocating memories slip through the cracks of a fragile mind.

Conscious to a stomach now twisting with knots. Flittering and fluttering of delicate wings.

Tendrils of blackness penetrate. Clinging to every fiber of being.

Carefully step into your refined façade.

Smile when necessary. Laugh when appropriate.

How are you?

Are you okay?

So easy it is to believe your own white lies.


© Jordan Costigan