Hat Stand

‘What hat shall it be today?’

the woman asks herself as she eyes

up the stand, the helpful monitor beside her

flashing with images of the latest trends.

 

‘Shall it be one that paints me an object, a soulless statue

worth only my measurements? How about the even tempered

diplomat, with no passion of her own, no dreams of her own,

no meaning of her own? Maybe the career minded robot

would like to be displayed?’

 

She lists them all, but none of them match her today.

 

None of them ever matched her, she realises,

and begins to wonder why she has hats at all.

She doesn’t remember buying them.

Were they gifts? Or suggestions?

 

She assesses the weather outside: mild.

 

She decides. She won’t wear one,

to see how it feels to be herself.

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Gripped

It’s in the touch that we can find ourselves,

find our solid state once more

and stop the wisps of identity

being sucked away.

 

Whether it’s a switch

flicked back and forth,

or the feel of a friend’s hand,

it can bring us back.

 

Yet what if you’re barred from doing so?

What if the search lights come on

and leach away your freedom?

What then?

 

Do we find another means,

or do we let

ourselves drift away, voices and thoughts

silenced forever?

Gifting season

Surprise!

 

A moment of passing,

threads of an old tale.

 

That’s all it took.

And it brought me back to myself.

Threw back the years.

 

With you, I’m how I was then.

That same core is still here, working the cogs

through the grime and the grit.

They’re tarnished, they’re beaten, they’re dented,

but when you held up the x-ray mirror,

I could see it was still me.

 

The me I always want to be,

but fear to let out in case

she gets hurt, ridiculed.

 

You unfastened her chains

and released her

regardless.

 

And she found she was safe.

You made her safe.

 

You.

Throw me your voice

Your voice can turn my head no matter what task I’m at,

lift my nose from any book, draw my eyes to your face

even if you’re nowhere near.

It can still my heart in the most anxious of moments,

ease my breath

and restore the balance to my mind.

Whether only in my my thoughts or right here beside me,

you are the remedy

to all my doubts.

 

Second star

Like fairy dust on my skin,

your words are enough to always lift

me up.

Even when I’m down,

sunk to the bottom of the ocean

by Captain Hook

in his vain attempt to distract

himself from time

ticking,

ticking

away, like the strength of muscle and bone

as age sets in.

But he forgets he is in Neverland,

where time is endless.

So are we,

if we stay hand in hand.

Clever little weaver

In the drumroll of night,

the spider weaves a catcher above my head,

luring away the aches of my mind

to feed on them and become fat.

Contented, it will scuttle away

at daybreak, regurgitating tapestries

of my dreams as it goes.