Miscellaneous


 
A bent pin,
rainbow thread,
burnt umber:
stitching today.

A fly bothering me.
Cleaning my whiskers.
Remembering that men can be kind.

by Rebecca L. Atherton


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He

Inhabiting the space
between the shade and the light,
he was never truly able
to move freely.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Collateral Damage

 

Clouds hug the buildings above her head, oppressive in their proximity. Smoke permeates the air from a shop that has caught fire across the street.

Yesterday it rained hard enough for branches to fall from the trees and washing that had dried to become wet.

Today the sun is out and even though it hasn’t yet escaped the clouds, there is the promise of heat.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Salt


 
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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Hiding in plain sight 


 
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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Unexpected gifts


 
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

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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Rock and cement


 
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


 
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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This little thing


 
I expand on the outside
as she grows within:
this little thing,
no bigger than an aubergine.
Tomorrow, she will be a baked potato.
Next week, a marrow perhaps?

I wonder what she’ll be like
when she comes out
and if she’ll look like my cat,
who has sat on top of her for days
keeping a tab on the various ways
I am changing.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

imageTo keep up to date with my progress and receive a copy of my newsletter, send me your email address.

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