Fall’s Enclosure

There is an ominous

feel about this rainy chill

after such a roasting summer.

I’ve been playing games

to avoid the niggling feeling

— it’s bad.  I watch myself

with compassion, curious

about why I cannot put:

down the game, 

out the words,

myself into what

steams like fog at

concentration’s edges.

Sense into it sideways,

this very early cage.

Perhaps when my mother left

to have my baby

brother, in weather just so,

I was mishandled

by people she trusted.

My panic and tears when she

finally returned dismissed

in the confusion of infant wails.

Resigned to my torment. 

No words, just

a cave painting etched deeply

in a place too difficult to reach.

Even so, I set down this game,

admitting the inutile distraction 

and just look into the darkness.

My bare feet chilled.

No stars, even the dock lights

dulled by the rain, this feeling

raises a finger.  Hush.  Pointing

to the trail of smoke, a cartoon character

following the scent of pie

from the open window.  I’m not safe

and no one understands.

Is this why I taught my own

children to speak early?  Not knowing

then that I could mother

myself.  It’s dark and cold

here now

I’m alone again.

I finally 

allow myself in.

 

Inspired by: Enclosure

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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