the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

resonator

jerked from sleep by a loud name – his – urgent
stumble down the hall, into her room.
– Dad, I had a nightmare, and he lifts the weight
of her growing body into a hug.
– Want me to sleep next to you, in the spare
bed? – Yeah. – Let’s go to the toilet first. – OK.
Carry her down the hall, and back, still sleepy,
clinging.
– Want to tell me what the dream was? – Yes.
And there are good and bad lands; white-striped,
face-painted warriors milling on the far shore.
Mum is there too, defending. The narrow water
between good and evil is leapt, breached, and
none of it makes sense in a narrative way…
– Thanks for telling me … we’re going to go to
sleep now. Love you. –  Mmm.
A single rustling turn; breathing, regular, quiet.
Nothing, then a bronze-shelled insect, closer,
along a vertical wall, closer in the pale tungsten
light, and he is awake again, facing his own
demons.

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10 thoughts on “resonator

  1. I feel like I ought to say “thank you” for writing this. It is a help.

  2. I have personal demons that I have avoided facing for a long time and have only just begun to face. At my age, it is daunting and discouraging. But it is good to know I am not alone.

  3. this is fascinating…reminds me of Kafka.
    yet, its so soft and gentle.
    I feel like I can smell sleepy child…

  4. The particular demon I faced in this instance was my irrational fear/hatred of cockroaches. Seems at present the cockroach is something of an internal metaphor, however; once one demon starts circling, the smell of fear and dysfunction attracts every vulture and hyena hiding in my psyche. I suspect, given the state of the world, they accumulate, inevitably, with age.
    Thanks all for your encouraging comments and empathy the last week or so. I hope the above makes some sort of excuse on my behalf.
    Reminiscent of Kafka! – wow, thanks, Evie.

  5. I haven’t read Kafka, but the fear of cockroaches I can understand. I was sixteen when I learned they could fly and I haven’t recovered yet. I am so glad to live in a part of the world that they can’t. So far.

  6. Strong. Amazing. Reassuring. Calming. Helpful. Lovely.!

  7. And sometimes, the demons don’t really go away.

    Anyway, great poetry. I like the imagery it conjured in my head.

  8. Nothing beats the fix-all power of the d-word … Dad! It’s like a magic cure, I swear. And I’m 23!

    • Thanks Jessica. Even though the calls for help are usually when I’m at a low ebb, it’s lovely to have that daughter-Dad trust; I hope we still have it when my girl is 23! (and I can’t believe you’re only 23; the maturity of your writing and your blog title have had me fooled :^)

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