Category: childhood

Relocate. Reset

Mom said sh’e leaving Dad
can’t take it anymore
we move.

Relocate. Reset.

Bullying at school out of control
can’t take it anymore
we move.

Relocate. Reset.

Truancy a problem
then the rape
school says I have to go.

Relocate. Reset.

Sister move back home
one unhinged, the other battered
Moms says it’d be better if I leave.

Relocate. Reset.

Shuffle boxes from relationship
to relationship, change careers
like hairstyles – is this boredom?

Relocate. Reset.

Never did grow roots
too good at packing up
trouble comes…

Relocate. Reset.

Tell you more, but we’re about
to pull out, the road is calling…
you know how it goes…

(Relocate. Reset. first appeared here in December, 2017. I am submitting it here, edited, for my weekly challenge: I’m bored. All welcome to join in. Image my own.)

Reflecting and Rebuilding

Considering
refurbishing
childhood home

Unrecognizable now
numerous makeovers
and even re-purposing

But my heart is invested
and well, I can see potential
and, oh…I know it will take work

All the walls I’ve torn down
and the excess furniture
and how I’ve imagined duplicity

Is this folly on my part
this revisionist thinking
see…I’m sure there is treasure

hidden amongst the forgotten
buried perhaps in the attic
or other overlooked nook

And as I remember it,
the backyard is an oasis –
Yes! I think I’ll do it!

Reflection and a good dose
of elbow grease, and I’m in!
Recreating an upbringing.

(for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: reflection. Image my own.)

The Car Crash

That time, playing in the muck,
foot emerging without boot,
hopping and laughing
all the way home.

Then, later, on the bus
that car hitting where we sat
the windshield cracking
like a giant spider
blood all over the dead lady’s face.

I thought I’d made it
when my new car had a sunroof
kids riding along, music blaring

But trauma is a spider
Arachne reaching into happy places
and as much as I speed up to avoid her

Fight to disable her attack
she weaves herself new limbs
begins the onslaught anew

And I am stuck in the mud again
no longer limber enough
to dance my way home in the rain.

Confessions To A Dreamcatcher

Rebellion rages in my veins, Dreamcatcher,
so tightly wound I have blocked hope
I want to be good – a good girl –
like that man of God says
but his preaching ways violate
prophecies a cover for sin
and I am so sullied that I fear
love will distain me.

How did I get here, Dreamcatcher
childhood a lost notion –
I try to minister to the past,
but Father’s sermonizing possesses
even in death, his will a barricade
I need guidance to help me emerge

I’m an unreliable navigator, Dreamcatcher,
oppression’s familiar, no high able to release me
suspicion of promises nauseates
I’m tired of facades – good girl facades –
locked in this nightmare
won’t you please help me out?

(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt: dreamcatcher. Art my own)


Oppression’s Child

This outer toughness
just conditioning
a baby alligator
that’s me

Raised in a swamp
Eat or be eaten!
family mantra, and
Deal with it!

I know it’s a lot
to take in
see the disbelief
in civilized eyes

Resistance to oppression
begets deeper wounds
Fear taught me well
Survival, they say, of the fittest.

(For Reena’s Xploration challenge: featured image is prompt.)

Heart’s Jewel

Child
delightful youth
my heart’s jewel
light-bearer
hope

antics haphazard
laughter contagious
spreading joy
sparking imagination

I pray that your spirit
remains vibrant, and
that reality dawns gently

(This poem first appeared in November 2018, as A Child Glows. I submit an edited and re-titled version here for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: jewels. Image my own.)

Untamed

Too young to understand
ethos of beauty regimes
she rejects girlish rituals
sees beauty in nature
in glitter of make-believe

This abnegation of grooming
not rebellion, but appreciation
a nuance that escapes
Mother’s frustrated efforts.

(My granddaughters balk at having their hair done, something that drove me crazy as a parent, but now reminds me of myself as a child. One generation removed, I view the issue from a new perspective. Image from personal collection.)