Hidden scars bring a red river
of pain, soothed by the faint giggles
radiating from the playroom. Siblings
creating memories, tied with little hands.
My dog’s swirling tail as he brings back his ball.
My tempered balloon – hard to fill
but too quickly popped. Unable to clear
away the scattered rubber before my sharp tongue bites.
A memory of acceptance wrapped around my
wedding finger, held tightly in the hand of my protector.
My son’s pubetic tantrums avoided with
chocolate and ice lollies. My mother’s drunken dancing
on nights I forget my name. Mistrust of the innocent,
formed by years of betrayal. My dog’s
love of muddy puddles and white carpets.
My son’s hidden bruises returned from
an ‘inclusive school’ – burying his head within
his books as I read to educate myself in a world of many.
Clean sheets upon my bed just before we dirty them again.
Dog shit – so much dog shit.
REDSMITHS and ROBINS 