Naked and unashamed...that's how I wanted to do this last poem. So, here it is:
The One Safe Place
Home,
as defined by Merriam Webster:
the place where
one lives,
the center or heart of
a matter,
an anchor, a safe place
Asshole!
She screamed it again and again,
at her father,
as she marched her tiny
three-year-old body
down the hallway
to the bedroom
and slammed the door.
Asshole!
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs,
the most basic of home, safety, security, and belonging
unmet.
She was three.
I am 68.
Yet, I can feel her fight and scream
and curse inside me today
Asshole!
26 years ago, her daddy scooped her up,
pulled her flailing arms and legs in tight,
wrapped himself around her sphinctered body,
and rocked and held her
until the sobs and curses subsided.
“There, there Rebecca, everything’s ok. Daddy loves you.”
Today, I don’t even know if I still believe in God
and I’m not too anxious to address him as “Father”,
YET,
I know my anger, cursing words and bleeding heart
Do not offend him in the least.
If he’s anywhere at all,
he’s holding me tight, right now,
even as I fight against him.
That may be the only thing I’m sure of
in this unsafe world we’ve been given today.
It has been one of my greatest joys and privileges to write annually with this group now for 9 years. Who knows what the future brings. None of us are sure if we'll meet again next year, but, if we don't, I want it known, here and now, how much I appreciate and love dearly each and every person who's ever attended one of these retreats, Richard Osler, our facilitator, and Andy Parker who instigated the whole thing 9 years ago - these sessions have part of my great treasure of life experiences. They have changed my life for the better.
2 comments:
*Tears*
and thank you for sharing your poetry Sheila
and thank you for encouraging me to come a few years ago
and thank you to all who welcomed me so sweetly
on my one excursion into this delightful group of poets.
Susan <3
Your poem this morning hit a spot in my heart!
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