And the songs

And the songs and the melodies that sang within me,
sang quietly, barely heard.
Like they were playing in an inner chamber
with the door closed.

And so my mind felt she was standing alone
suddenly unable to speak to her neighbouring parts
but feeling like she was speaking
just that hers was the only voice.
A thin, reedy, voice that speaks to keep itself company.

Remember it is just shreds of paper

Beforehand, standing so small in front of it,
it was a dense, thick, stone wall.
It was so tall and wide that to see above or beyond it
was near impossible.

But now it is passed, it doesn't seem this way.
The stone, now tumbled, looks more like shreds of paper,
just shreds of paper.

And I see the monster for what it truly is -
a moment in time,
easily passed through,
harmless.

Post-it note words

So much did her words linger
it was as if she wrote everything she was saying on post-it notes
and stuck them to me.

It took me days to find them all
picking each one off and digesting them.

And when I thought I'd done,
I began finding them elsewhere:
round the house
some in the car
one or two at work.

I thought I'd never be rid of them
and then I noticed the handwriting
and saw that it was my own.
Maybe all I have to do is stop writing new ones.

Complicated Hair

Sitting in a lecture
listening to interesting, thought provoking words
as if they were simply a delicate breeze caressing my face
I wondered and wondered
how the lady in front of me had managed to tie her hair up.
It seemed impossible to me
that she had achieved something so unfathomable
with hair.

Conveyor belt home

Then I stand back and look at everything on the conveyor belt
and I think how familiar these foodstuffs are to me
how frequently chosen over competing provisions
how omnipresent in my cupboards they are
how ubiquitous in my life
how much these things collected together, even in this daunting place,
speak to me of home and comfort and sanctuary
and such is the power of this feeling
that I almost expect to see other parts of my life
my sofa, the book I am reading, my husband
nestled in amongst these objects
and I think about the warm hug of home
and I am grateful