When we bought our little house
she was
sad
depressed
hiding under
bad make up with
no dress sense whatsoever!

I said ‘I’ll fix that! No problem!‘.
And I did,
fix it,
eventually,
with my
blood
sweat and
many
many
tears.

And love.
I painted my
love,
my dreams
into every wall,
every window frame.
Every flower and stone,
every door handle and
benchtop and
skirting board.
Polished till she
shone.
She was ready.

My fears all came to the surface once
the Sign
went up.
Funny how I can be so sure and then
my old arch enemy
Doubt
attacks from behind with
jeers
sneers
disbelief.

STOP!!!!
I yelled.
And yelled.
And kept on yelling until
my arch enemy slunk away
defeated.

Waiting… 
hoping
then suddenly
SOLD!
To a girl who loves our little house,
feels her beauty.
I am
very glad
a little sad
and so
excited!

Now there is space for a new dream….

I bend low, grab my laces, gritty with
beach sand and tie my leather hiking
boots, one tug at a time until each
loop is taut and my fingers are

rubbed raw from the pulling and
finally I create the familiar loop
over loop, the tuck, the pull through
the last determined yank as the bow

is held tight and firm. I stand
and stretch and turn a full 180 degrees
over the logs, till I’m running on the logs
running over the logs

in mid-air, feet flying like
a stunt in one of those Japanese
films with flying daggers
feet airborne, body

flipping, gravity gone, dancing,
hurtling, pitching over the tree
tops, and onward into the clouds, such is my
determination to walk away from you.

Fingers caught in the wringer washer
Flattened, crunched
How will she make the piano sing again?
I want to help her, though I am so small,
and have no power.
For years her words were a wringer washer,
tearing the flesh
from my heart,
rolling over my
dreams.

DISSED AGAIN

I feel
Dismissed
Disowned
Dismembered
Disliked
Displaced
Disapproved
Disrespected
Disturbed
Dislocated
Dissolved.
Distraught
Distorted.
When distain is her middle name.

ON GOOD DAYS SHE SINGS

On good days she sings -
standing at the kitchen sink
stirring pots on the stove
rolling dough into loaves.

We open the front door
tentatively after school.

Is there music in the air?

Or has he made her cry again?

LIFE OF THE PARTY

She’s the fizz in the
punch, the crackling
music on the hi fi, the ribbon
around the parcel, the punch
line in the joke, the
laughter in the
corner, the colours of
the evening sky, the
hors d’œuvre table of
possibilities.

BEST FRIENDS

The dog.
The library books.
The dog.
The post man.
The dog.
The walk in the woods.
The dog in the woods.
The neighbour.
The neighbour’s dog.
The long distance phone call.
The dog.
The exercise buddy.
The dog.
The garden.
The dog in the garden.
Not me.
Not me.
Never me.

Sweeping the sky like a brush of

JOY!

My Laughter erupts and shouts across the field,

As I race the swallow homeward.

Forever young, she outflies me, again,

Dancing a dramatic arc towards the sun.

I collapse onto the ground, smiling.

The long grass tickles,

And the warm earth holds me unconditionally.

Took a step
Into a void

Falling down
An endless chasm

Through the tunnels
Of a muddled mind

Finding light
Creeping in

Like a path
Leading upwards

Realising now
I’d actually started

A journey of
Discovery.

Happily babbling its story.

While on its banks

In a golden glow of tranquility,

The willow weeps softly,

Waiting for a chance

To sing its ballad.

Hiding under its flowing boughs,

Its shy personality,

Gently cares

For those that seek shelter,

From the weeping willows

Loving embrace.