Reunion

 A woman sits in a garden courtyard on a wicker chair.

The cushions beneath her are soft and worn. The morning sunlight filters through the branches of the fir tree above. A pot of tea with two tea cups is set before her on a glass-topped table. A milk jug and sugar bowl accompany the teapot, from which gentle steam emits.

She is waiting. Not the restless sort of waiting, but instead, the waiting that one is grateful to have. That stretch of time before an event in which she meanders through her thoughts, stopping at a couple of them and feeling their fabric, enjoying their weight in her hands. 

She is brought back to her courtyard with the sound of footsteps growing louder as they draw nearer. A lady is striding confidently in her direction, a large grin stretching across her face. 

"My darling!" 

The woman stands up. 

It is as if the fir trees and the sunlight and the courtyard and the very air around them turn golden and warm, sparkling and vibrating with energy. Two hearts become as closely connected as they have been in almost two decades as the women embrace. 

"Mum!" 

They hold each other tightly. This hug is making up for tens of thousands of missed hugs, solitary hands when they needed holding, absent ears when thoughts and feelings and words needed speaking, heavy silence and empty spaces. 

They stand apart but keep hands held, better to look into each other's eyes - both pairs that same shade of blue, straddling noses that also so closely resemble one another. 

Mother and daughter. The luxury of each other's company. 

"Would you like a cup of tea?" asks the woman to her mother, revelling in her ability to ask such a thing. 

"I thought you would never ask," she responds.

They sit down in their wicker chairs and fill their teacups and fill the space with words left too long unsaid, and fill their ears with the sound of a voice too long unheard, and fill their hearts and fill. And fill. 

And fill. 

No Words At All

 how do I say in no words at all 

that I miss you with all of my heart

and all of my stomach and all of my brain

how can I tell you, but not

how can I lean on your shoulder and cry 

or go on a walk or a swim 

go out for breakfast, just stay in bed

a long drive, with snacks, on a whim 

I listen to sympathy, take note of those

who say the trade-off for peace is time 

but I know grieving, from loss and leaving 

that once missed, I'm missing for life

Let's go about our days, sit tight, heads down

'move on' or whatever needs doing 

But I need to tell someone, some selection of code

that I'm upset, and my heart is in ruin

these are my words, secretly posted 

into a letterbox rarely checked 

and I'll keep on going, river time keeps on flowing 

My face is happy, but my insides are wrecked. 

Peace in a Warzone

You're quiet and unbearably loud
You're pathetic and meek yet proud
You're tall and tiny, brave and cowered
Your heart's in your chest and your hands

Constantly balancing indecision
Hopelessly hoping for more
Nothing decided without much revision
Unbroken, it seems, yet torn

You're searching for peace
Your tracks are a warzone
You'll fly high and undoubtedly fall
You can see far ahead
You're badly shortsighted
You're hunting, but not sure what for

You call all the shots
You don't have control
You're bolting but still you stand
You play by the rules, you're always revolting
Your heart's in your chest and your hands

Your heart's in your chest and your hands

The Birds in Our Mouths

We have birds in our mouths, they’re born from our throats

And lay eggs in the nests of our heads

They fly through our lungs, looking for hearts,

But often find stomachs instead

The birds in our mouths would love to fly

To be seen by the world at large

But the birds from some mouths have farther to fly

To flit above birds in charge

The birds in charge tend to be bright

To burst forth and fly about

They swoop amongst treetops, sit in the light

It’s hard to miss them shout

Some smaller birds, though equally fair

Are difficult to hear in a crowd

The birds in charge might not quite know it

But their calls are incredibly loud

Some birds are quite shy, and when given the chance

Tend not to leave their keep

They hesitate on the tips of tongues

But can’t quite make the leap

They hop back behind the molars

And often feel the shame

That comes with not quite figuring out how

To join the other birds’ game

There are birds that skulk like vultures

Waiting patiently for prey

They perch on shoulders and peck at cheeks

And often for years they’ll stay

They murmur their calls in our ears

And cover our eyes with their wings

Its difficult to make out the other birds

Over their shouts and whispers and things

The birds of some people soar straight to our hearts

They make nests in the smalls of our backs

Their wings could lift us off the ground

And their calls could fill up our cracks

When your birds fly from the back of your throat

They perch lightly on my nose

Their feathers are soft as their wings stroke my cheeks

Time quickens and then it slows

Your birds found a way through the cage of my ribs

They explored my dark insides

It was cold down there but they did not mind

They brought light where it had been denied

They silenced my birds that squawk in my head

They put them quietly to bed

Where once was harsh, jarring tones

There is now soft singing instead

My birds quite like sharing space with yours

And I didn’t find them intrusive

The vultures that sat on my shoulders once

Seemed to become less abusive

My birds found strength in the kindness of yours

And soared quite far, and proudly

I realised for once, it seemed my birds

Were actually singing quite loudly

But birds are just words and words are not things

They do not come to stay

Your birds and your words were warming at first

But then they flew away

Her Cloud is Leaking

Sunlight forced its way angrily through the dark curtains which had been closed hastily the night before, leaving patches of window in her view. The curtains did not do much to stop the sun from reaching into her bedroom and grasping a hold of everything in it, throwing it all into view, plunging her into reality.

            She was disappointed by this unceremonious launch into the real world, disappointed to learn that everything still existed, that the people and places and things that had disappeared last night had truly come back. She looked above her and her greatest fear was confirmed. Her cloud had come back too.

            Her cloud spent a vast amount of time following her where she went, falling about her like a heavy blanket that she could not shake off. It was not put off by physical barriers, without consent, settled itself into her head and chest, suffocating her. To her complete frustration and emabarrassment, very few others could see her cloud. This was curious because it was so tightly bound around her, and so constricting, she was surprised that she was not being rushed to the hospital to have her cloud pryed off and out of her.

            Her cloud had settled itself comfortably inside and on top of her, pinning her to her bed. She could not lift her arms or her legs, it sat so heavily upon her. It seeped into her muscles and her brain, filling her with its misty being that was somehow as heavy as lead. In an effort that felt nothing short of herculaen, she heaved herself upright. Her cloud fell into her stomach and filled it with cement, before falling into her feet, planting her to the ground. The cloud had wrapped itself around her legs like weights, turning her walk into a shuffle.

            To her utter frustration, the cloud, which was so present today, was behaving rather modestly, deciding not to show itself. This was utterly inexplicaple because she could see the cloud everywhere she looked. She could see it expanding to fill each room she entered like a massive balloon that could not be contained merely by walls and ceilings. Everywhere she looked, people effortlessly walked and talked through her cloud as though it simply didn’t exist. She, however, could hardly force words out, as the cloud sat so heavily in her throat and in her chest.

            And in an instant, it became too much. The weight of this being that had taken residence inside her became more than she could bear. It sat on her eyelids, pulling them closed. It sat on her toungue, weighing it down. It filled her heart with its dark and heavy sludge and she could feel it leaking out of her chest. For fear of this oily darkness dripping onto the hard university desk in front of her and making a mess, she mumbled an apology, and headed back to her home, to her bedbed where, if she was lucky, she could slip into unconsciousness, and everything that had rudely launched itself into existence this morning, would disappear again as though it had never come into being in the first place.

I'm starting to hate the days

I'm starting to hate the days again
It's like prolonging the pain again
I'm starting to feel the shame again
And I wish I could sleep it away again

I used to take deep breaths and then
See what strength I had left and then
Do crafts or write or cook but when
you're tired you can't be bothered again

I look forward to the night again
when falling asleep is right again
there are no expectations to fight and then
you wake up and do it again and again and again

Coconut Milk

Curries can be really trying to make. Some people get them right immediately, but I spent years avoiding the attempt at making them because they never tasted exactly how I wanted them to. 

If you don't get them right, the flavours in a curry can be jarring. Sometimes nothing cuts the spiciness properly and you can't taste any of the flavours. Whether its Indian, Thai, or Malay, I could never get it right. Everything was mixed together but it didn't work together. 

That was until coconut milk. 

Coconut milk is the secret ingredient to a curry. Yes, yoghurt or cream is an option but there's something about the softness and sweetness of coconut that cushions everything. It's difficult to identify in a dish - especially one with loads of other ingredients. it does the vitally important job of launching all the other flavours without being overly conspicuous. It provides a lightness that takes the pressure off the situation as a whole. It's like a neutraliser in a dish and I can't stress its importance. 

She was coconut milk. 

In any situation she provided this softness and this sweetness that made everything seem a lot easier to handle. Without being too loud or extravagant, she would cut tension and lower pressure. She made things easy and everyone around her was affected by her kindness. They were the other ingredients, and with her around, they complimented each other and worked well together and things seemed little less overwhelming. 

She was like coconut milk in my own mind. I have thoughts and feelings and ambitions and non-ambitions that clash together like the world's most disgusting curry. They fester if go undelt with and everything intensifies. I am broken and overwhelmed and my head needs coconut milk. My family needs coconut milk. My whole world needs coconut milk.