Sandra Hill

Colours float away from me
past unforgiven hurts, wounds not healed.
The water calls me in.
A tiny diamond surfaces.
by Gail Bohle

Surging into the mist
mysterious forms rising
calling me curiosity
carried on the breeze
eyes to the light.
Cocooned in not knowing she
takes the edges off
harsh reality
it can no longer be.
Colours float away from me.

What are these things whose grip has me
reaching for gin, Panado, Kleenex?
So shadowy they defy definition
so real you’d crack
crack your nose if you walked into them.
“No monsters allowed” I gaily peeled
I, a closet monster maniac
secretly stashing them,
stockpiling congealed
past unforgiven hurts, wounds not healed.

Darkness closes over my head
the underworld greets me
puts a smile on its face
enticing me onward, downward.
No more breath to hold
the dizzy feeling grows thin
I shoot to the surface light-headed and panting
floating on my back I look up at the sky
and wink at the moon’s kin.
The water calls me in.

It smells sour
like spilt milk and unshed tears
angering me
making me furious, livid with rage
beyond words I poke this anger
with sharpened sticks and hisses
knowing I too will grow old
if I’m lucky it won’t bother me
if I’m lucky it won’t bother Mrs.
A tiny diamond surfaces.

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