Day 62
Bulbs
Emerging
from soft
winter beds
green fragile
fronds feather
towards the light
papery petals
soaked in
newborn wetness
arrive
violent lips
framing
dark mouths
crying their arrival
demanding attention:
Look at me!
Day 63
My mind is like an attic
An exciting attic of childhood adventures
Old chests brimming with costume,
Button boxes, a dress makers dummy
Draped in exotic cloth,
An old Hong Kong paper parasol
Eclectic, well loved treasures
I can simply wear or parade about in
But sometimes this attic feels like a hoarders den
Stuffed to the rafters with bus receipts
Strewn carrier bags orange and blue
Filled with resentment and resignation
Empty crisp bags rattle with boredom
I drown amongst the detritus of my life
Swamped in frustration
Worst of all is the nightmare attic
Cobwebs drift, corners shift with shadows
Dust chokes thick as smoke
Rats scurry startling me
sharp teeth bright eyes
Gleaming through the gloom
As something creaks back and forth
Wheezing out of view.
I'm trying to redevelop
Revamp and renovate
Create a space I'm happy in
Full of light slanting
Cutting through the dust
Turning what was once scary
Into golden shining motes
Cobweb corners into pristine patterns
Of fascination and wonder
Serenity and peace.
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