Poetry

The weight on our shoulders

Is not a burden to bear.

It is unexpected in so many ways, yet

there was never a chance for us to avoid it:

the path seeming tangent but twisting and connecting just in time.

Train tracks flipped by a single switch

that altered the course of everything.

Solid ground to stand on, legs strengthened by hours walking

and arms willing to hold no matter the babble.

Forging days into weeks,

this is how it has been.

Outside, they do not see it. Outside, they see haste.

But those eyes are untrained in our ways

to warp

that mysterious river

simply by welcoming it with open hearts.

Poetry

And here we are

The scum around the bath is easily scrubbed away,

the ceramic clean enough to be white again.

Paint tins, brushes, rollers –

evidence of our romp with the walls

clear for any onlooker. Sweet sugared soap

purges away the grime of long life,

Artex to mask the imbalance. Spongy bounce

under our feet. That’s more like it.

Spread our toes to feel the pile. New.

Home at last.