Dead beat end of year trailing off to Christmas glory and the empty hands of torn wrapping paper. So much fear around the bright lights and underneath the tree, my mother a scarcely lidded boiling pot of resentment set to overflow into full blown violence for the things you could never give her Daddy.
Faith, hope honesty
empty packages of grief
salted rivulets of years
down the face of broken promise.
Back then I made myself small, curled up invisible I hoped, skirting around the edges of your anger, brushing up the dust of last night’s fight. Now as the year crashes to its florid close I try to pretend that nothing is wrong, shun the parties and the smiling faces for fear that it will take me right back there again. A useful strategy until I met you.
Sitting down there in your beach blown house the ghost is casting runes and throwing poltergeist dementia at you. Recovery is a big word that I unwittingly threw you with a ……’’get clean or get out ” ultimatum. Me a magnet for messed up men, drug addicts , love addicts and alcoholics ………..I think I hoped you would just leave : that I wouldn’t have to love you, watch you sweat and shake it out of you………but you didn’t.
So I left as I always do, survival tactics, if nothing else I have learnt the art of the survivor . So here we are, you with the ghost and the gun, and me with the usual party goers who return after years of silence to tell me that they love me .
Love is many sided
a coloured Christmas ball
to pack away until the earth curves
the stars align again
take breath & send you
back to me, too late