Category Archives: written work

Precious things

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You came into my house and took without thanking;
and even though I gave you all that I had,
all that I was able:
it wasn’t enough.

In the silence of your departure,
I examine my loss:
unpicking it and licking it
until it calcifies.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Salt

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I adjust my route to enter a pharmacy and after a short spell of window-shopping buy arnica for my back: it is a break in routine and as I attempt to leave I am punished with a glass wall.

I pull out the tube I have just pocketed and apply it to my arm and leg, struck by the irony – for in looking to remedy one imbalance I have somehow created another, adding insult to injury and salt to old wounds.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Yoga Nidra

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                        clouds.
             the
       in
Up  

Away 
        with 
              the
                        fairies.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Hiding in plain sight 

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A child crashes into me on the pavement without batting an eye;
a bird passes so close, it touches the top of my head.
In my ignorance, I feel bliss.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Falling Awake

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I paddle my bed
into the still-existing bathroom
and stare at my face in the mirror.

The floor is an ocean.
The wall is a door.
The windows no longer exist.

In the frame
I see a woman dancing,
held captive to a thousand strings.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Unexpected gifts

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All around town,
balconies drip plant pot water
into the street –
forming puddles where,
for weeks,
we have had no rain.

Passing underneath,
I get caught on the head:
a blessing from the sky.
Which helps me later,
when I am blessed again:
only this time my benefactor can fly. 

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Agápe

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image
 
Shhhhhh little bird,
don’t say a word;
the sun has risen
and the black bird is awake.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Romantic notions

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image
 
In summer my hair has
only one style: back.
And if it weren’t for winter,
I’d chop it off entirely.

That, twinned with the fact that
every time I mention it
my boyfriend pulls a face,
strong enough to put me off.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Rock and cement

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Searching for home in a world full of motion –
shapes constantly shifting,
people and spaces milling, spilling, moving around;
loud,
noisy,
fast-paced –
my hands paw at the intangible,
looking for connection inside
solid structures like rock and cement.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Rock face

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All she wants is for the man inside to show up –
not as a child or as a petulant teenager,
angry at the world and at her –
but as an adult, as himself.

A bit of compassion,
kindness…
mindfulness and presence,
would also be nice.

And yet…
living inside his stone fortress,
imprisoned inside layer upon layer of himself,
he watches but cannot not act.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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