Anxiety
sits in my shoulders
like a bird
without wings
watching
the approach of winter.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Nestled in the nook of the window,
a moth,
sheltered
between concrete and wood.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Watching a man
sandblast a building –
cleaning one level,
dirtying the next.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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The wind makes ships out of balconies –
canvas and tarpaulin flapping,
plant heads creaking and snapping;
blowing everything – sadness, anger;
fear, frustration… away.
Like my head –
barely tethered, overly weathered;
subject to a disco of light too bright
for one with so many years.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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A misunderstanding turns what should
have been special into something plain
and the associated pain hurts more
than I care to describe.
I stare at the window and will
what is real into something else,
replacing what is
with what I would like.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Things keep breaking inside my house
and I seem to spend every spare moment fixing them.
I seek comfort in a warm cup,
my bed, and the gentle rhythm
of two needles going clickety clack.
Slowly nothing becomes substance
until eventually a blanket appears.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Reacquainting with old friends,
I stand confused,
unsure of who I am greeting,
twin locks of gold spinning before my eyes,
almost identical in nature.
And yet, there is a discrepancy –
of gender, of age –
if only I could see fit to figuring it out.
Picking my words carefully,
I say ‘hello’ from a distance,
one step removed,
waiting for those on the other side
to take the lead.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Opening a closed heart can be dangerous;
especially if you have not adequately prepared.
Just look at Pandora and what happened to her!
In the end though, there is no other way:
denial only prolonging what will one day find a way out.
Navigating extreme feelings –
emotions that threaten to overwhelm
the casing in which they reside –
I battle the urge to run backwards,
something external holding me to the floor.
Placing hands on parts I have for years now
happily suppressed – suffocating, starving,
ignoring… until they appeared to die –
I listen as they wake back up:
hungry, angry, needy.
Tears fall, sobs escape, screams wrench
and I keen like a mother grieving an infant: open, raw, exposed.
And while it might take a while,
for the denial runs deep:
even this small freedom is a respite.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Standing in the shadows, I cannot see you.
Walking behind me, I miss the help you give.
Yet you are there; people attest to this.
When the sky is grey,
when the land is wet,
when the air is cold and crisp;
when my body aches,
when my heart is heavy,
when my mind is full of clutter:
a flash of colour,
a burst of song,
an unbidden smile,
a stranger’s kindness,
a shaft of light,
a falling feather…
In subtle ways on countless days
you light my journey
and I feel your love.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Autumn leaves coat the pavement
like careless gems,
their silent bodies slowly rotting.
Likewise, a finger glowers and sweats,
unhappily attached to a hand so busy surviving,
it hurts more than it helps.
Days later, betrayed by Mary, Jesus, God,
lavender, tea tree and Himalayan salt,
the body interferes
insisting on manufactured
ointments, pills and plasters
to cover and protect what it cannot heal.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Rebecca L. Atherton 