Remember the Night Rainbow

I feel compelled to write
My sister told me to, but
More importantly
I have words that need to come out, feelings that have only festered inside, without outlet.

How should one respond when attempting love, one is met largely with contempt?
And worse, how does one react when that contempt is not really for you, just spurred by you, and the ambition you demonstrate, pointing out constructed flaws?
How do you report a theft to the police, when the gifts were originally given? Only the contempt making acts of love into things stolen.

I feel a shallow shadow of revenge porn, the violence is not in the shame of nudity, or stranger’s appropriation and comment
The violence is the turn
The gift given in love, or adventure or shared excitement- made into something so ugly it cannot be contained

How did I wrong you? Why did you wrong me?
Why are you so unwilling to own even your own actions?
Because my father owned more than yours? Because my drive was insatiable, and not for you?

Your cowardice, in asking me to pay the price for your insecurity and betrayal, in every way possible is unfathomable.

You married my namesake, perhaps we were just off in the rhythm, you were meant to find her, I happened to be in the way
I don’t want to find another you however. I want to move beyond that. I want someone who doesn’t need to make me small to feel bigger.
I thought you were an honourable gentleman. I thought honour was a universal; accessible by all. You made me fear it was a bastion of elitism. Is that true? Or was the crime limited to you and your peculiar deficits?

I worked so hard not to see your faults, to believe the best. You made my optimism into foolishness; another day, another week, another month. And how many years were stolen?
Or lost

The worst recrimination of course is for myself: why didn’t I see you for who and what you are? Why did I continue to invest? Why did I think that was all I deserved?

And you remain,
which is the worst crime of all


IMG_0024There are people in this world who will save your life

Who throw a lifeline if you are drowning, not caring that the rope will bind you

Who are generous, or loving, or thoughtful, or driven, and say ‘yes’ when you ask for help


Saying ‘yes’ saves at least one life every day but saying ‘no’ is so much easier when one is tired

Saying ‘yes’ inspires hope, and a renewed demonstration of commitment;

to each other, to the process, to ourselves


There is electricity in these ties that connect us, and healing

Acceptance is a powerful thing; generosity and kindness

A willingness to be wrong, to be vulnerable, to be open


The courage to risk, the confidence to fall, the heart to begin again

Life is a hard thing at times, there are monsters in the deep

And sometimes light is hard to come by


So we leave signposts, and whisper to the trees as we pass

Breadcrumbs for both me and the birds

if they eat the bread then surely they will sing my way home



Motherless Mother’s Day


There comes a brief glimpse

Of a choice: Happiness or fear


When you have the option

Do you choose yourself?


How much can you risk?

How open can your heart stretch?


When tears flow freely

And you don’t know which are for the bitter and which for the sweet


How tight should you pull the thread

When you sew your broken pieces back together?


When you set out on a new path

In an unknown direction


When you let the dam breach

And the river unleashes


What poetry is written in your soul?

In the quiet moments

I am fine talking to myself

But when I think about sharing with you my throat closes up (physiological response)


Being public unintentionally becomes just another psychosis

Another ‘you or me?’ moment


I reach so hard for ‘us’ and yet

It is something we both have to fall




Trust is so painstakingly constructed

And it is so easily swept away


In tides

And tears

And moments of thoughtlessness or frustration


I don’t like ‘you or me?’

It presupposes there is no ‘us’


That is what makes this hard

Hard to know when to risk being hurt

Hard to know when I’m strong enough for my heart





Its true that only mothers can understand some things

But we all understand love and exclusion

And overwhelming pressure


Sometimes we choose to let go

And sometimes we choose to hang on


We can only know the fit of our own oxygen mask

And we have to trust that we will be there in the end


It is hard

being the same

And different


Beautiful in the spaces between the pressures

The moments of laughter

And abandon



It’s so much harder to negotiate when we just don’t understand the words other people use

Makes the quiet easier in comparison