Process

Processing
Darkling day is creeping towards dusk.
My ageing feet, stiff with years and fallen tears
are cold….. cold like milk in glass bottles
left outside to stay fresh when mum had no fridge….
My feet were cold then but the open fire
I used like a mirror, sitting in front of it
till legs bright red, ached…. unforgivably.
Thoughts of a cold bed, closed door
and gut twisting shadows, would mangle in my head.
Then, in light of a frost laden morning,
curtains yanked back with ferocious frustration
and single glazed, iced over windows
blasted open, “for air”….
“come on, get up” richoceted in my ears
and placed my bare feet on cold, Marley tiled floors…….
Today’s cold floors are met with slippers,
when alone, no one barks except the cat for food…
and I light the fire, my lovely hearth, myself.
It’s all ok, for the mother in me
now understands better the mother in her…..
It takes time, all this and Time…..never ceases to move;

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The Frisson of Health

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The Frisson of Health

The Frisson of Health

This morning’s chill sits stark upon my feet.
Iced with purple blotches along my naked toes,
air shards embed to the bone and my skin
wants to peel off, like shavings from the
woodcarver’s lusty, voracious knife.
Yet, this IS my amazing life.

We stand here naked,
unprotected from the scrimmages of the world
with our bottoms bare for the beating.
Still, even so……
somewhere along this varigated journey,
precious souls cover our pain of nakedness
with petals from glorious flowers
of wild hedgerows, fields and hills.
These too embed themselves in us…..
as we find the longed for, frisson of Health.

Dedicated to my dear Sister of the Soul, Yaz McCallion