BACK WHEN WE WERE TALKING

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My mother once told me –
back when we were talking,
which we did in those days
but haven’t done for a while now –
never to poop in your own backyard.

Which I obviously then did –
because: why not?
And besides…
I immediately then got scooped up
and placed in another garden:
greener, lusher and more verdant;
set free to roam as I pleased, and it pleased me a lot –
so no harm ever came of it.

And as for the poop…
well, the poop got left exactly where it was,
at the foot of a tree next to a wheelbarrow full of leaves
and a radiator ripe with rust,
set free to wither and shrink
growing old benignly.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Puddles

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Puddles shine, like enchanted mirrors,
delivering coded messages from God.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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All of a… (flutter)

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There are gulls in the city
blown in from the sea,
where the boats leap and dance
like the inside of me.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Summer Insanity

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In typical Mallorquin style
they’re tarmacking the streets,
shutting off the city in August,
causing traffic jams for miles…

by Rebecca L. Atherton


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Embroidered Truths: Day 567

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Following the pull of gravity,
I connect to the downward flow of something
deeper and darker within;
sinking, as I do so, to the bottom left.

I’m not sure if I’m just filling space;
dancing in silver because this side is still
free, unfettered, a blank page.
Or if I’m here because there’s inner work to be
doing and this side seems to be all about that.

The left details the surface: health, sickness, ailments,
thoughts, feelings emotions, etc.
And the right: something more primal,
about planetary alignments, constellations, bulbs and roots.
There are more fishbone spines, more skeletal branches,
more lines, curves and sweeps.

As silver connects to gold: something
alchemical occurs and I feel cracks in the ceiling.
Ceiling being the surface of my mind,
walls of my body, shell of my soul.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

🕊

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Life Lessons

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Yesterday, I learnt why
one always should wear gloves
when applying dye to one’s hair.

And this morning –
trying to remove the stains from the tips of my hands;
I was taught that, even diluted, oregano oil burns.

By Rebecca L. Atherton


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Last night

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Last night I emptied nail clippings onto the balcony
and offered sage and frankincense to the moon.

Tonight I examine the remains
to see what, if anything, she took.

By Rebecca L. Atherton


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My stupid body

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My arm laid bare,
lying there like a naked banana
or flower with its petals peeled back,
I wait while a plastic bag distributes medicine
that burns like acid.

Trapped because of the needle and the tube and the bag on the pole with stupid wheels that do not follow no matter where you go…
not that you are allowed to…
I filter angry emotions like resentment, rage and hate,
feeling pissed at my stupid body and my life
that is so small you would struggle to find it on a map.

By Rebecca L. Atherton


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Waking up

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1.
In summer, the green comes fast –
an eruption of colour,

– a bit like the heat,
which moves from 20 to 30
in a matter of days.

2.
Slowly, I adapt…
releasing, shedding and purging;

letting go of long-held emotions,
metaphorical handcuffs,
and sharp-edged things.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Step by step

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Self love is a life long journey,
and some days
I’m not very good at it.

by Rebecca L. Atherton


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