Slow journeys
l
I call to you,
I call to you:
the child,
the children;
the moments we were so alive
and without thought.
The magic of moments;
the curtains that moved with the night;
the curtains that promised all fear
and protection at times.
The witch and the teeth
and the moments of praying.
The gathering night
and the magic,
so fearsome and true.
ll
The well-used deck of playing cards;
the crease that like an avalanche
ran through the jack of hearts -
and all those signs and
stories,
mangled cards.
The games we played:
I turn a card -
and now you love me,
now I hate you.
lll
And the night;
those first dark promises
of joy and death.
Before I knew
the full vocabulary of lust,
I dreamt up demons
and sweet torture.
Waking up with sudden
cooling white and swamp stuff.
lV
Fear, at times,
does not need words.
I knew I was doomed;
I knew I was tainted.
I had a world of hurt
and an amazing lack of trust
to feed me to these nights
and to the light,
that if it caught me
would proclaim me
to be monstrous.
V
All of the darkness and fear,
all of those moments
that I was afraid.
But I was also so often in love.
There was Jacqueline -
and yes,
I was nine years’ old.
I had no language for love,
so I dreamt of saving her from lions
and tribes of cannibals -
and I also dreamt of
dancing round the fires,
partaking from her naked,
roasted body.
I was the saviour and the demon,
feasting on my virtue and her flesh.
Vl
Then there was no doubt.
I was the age of monsters,
angels,
invented and included every day -
fear and play a dance of moments:
what’s the colour,
what’s the smell of what is right,
when all that happens
is new and fearsome
and strange and oh so bright.
And how I loved and how I feared
in all those moments.
Vll
And loving,
growing older,
tainted with this knowledge:
lies are lifelines;
lies are safe -
I committed endless sins
against the light,
against the bearings
of my still and shallow soul.
I lied to fuck;
I lied to be alone.
I lied and was quite happy for a while
to curse and to deny
the shadow and the light.
And I denied the Gods
that wait for us
to listen to the flesh
and to forgive and dream of love.
Vlll
I’ve wasted worlds
between the child I was
and what I now,
so slowly, am becoming.
And I remember.
And still there is time
to forgive what I was:
the years of waste
and the years of pain -
where I hurt and I loved
from great distance.
lX
I have grown less heroic now.
And when I say I do remember,
there are no ravens circling
some tall, dark midnight tower.
Now I love and live,
not for effect or for perfection,
not in denial or greed.
I’ve done a lot of miles and breathing
and I know now
I’m not wise or special -
and I’m not done with learning yet.
But I’ve learnt to think and feel and love;
and that’s enough for now.
To know the truth
and the lie of the land.
To love and to grow
and to learn
to take each breath as it comes,
without pride,
without shame.
X
I listen to my footsteps;
I’m learning to be quiet.
What’s left is still
a lot of catching up to do
with my heart.