In fear
we wall up,
shrink,
border,
a tight-packed nut
or a fist.
While in grace
we open, a dancer
spreading her arms,
a bird in flight,
we become the cloud
shading a farmer
from hot sun
we rock a child
as if we were
the wind,
a lullaby
our fingers trace
feathered love
onto another’s
face.
Fear tries
to stop us
from dying
but we can only
live
in the opposite
of fear
-grace.
The Scarf
The scarf that Nan wore
When she was dying –
Green, gold and sparkling,
Delicate tassels of silver,
Luminescent –
From whence did it come?
A thing she picked up
In the dementia home,
In her forgetting
(So we presume) –
Unless, on her deathbed,
It just manifested.
The only thing there is
To remember her with.
How can it be that she’s gone?
And yet,
If she were not,
It would make sense even less.
– Arwen, September 2017 (Cambridge)
Loss
They’re coming, coming,
One after another,
One follows the other,
Hastening, chastening –
The rain
Breaks up loss
Like candles at mass –
Hope in the dark;
When a bee is fallen
(The window never found)
It lies death still –
Like us as well.
– Arwen – July 1990 (Birmingham)
It was a long journey
just to get back
where I started
but the circle
was not without
a point.
A thousand times
I stepped
a thousand times
my feet kissed
the Earth
and she kissed
me back
in rain,
growing the
flower
of my heart
until I
only
knew
love.
No one was
alone
in that sea
of starfish
though few
names
had been
spoken,
tumbling in
empty rain
and rolling
roaring waves.
Clothes, shoes,
money were lost
by the time
the new land
appeared
and the storm
blissfully
stopped.
The moon lit
the sea,
and recognised
the soft, pink ones
as hers.
She gave them names
that could not
be taken or spoken
but were known.
Star hand in
star hand
they walked
to shore
together.
I wrote this poem about five times, all different- I couldn’t settle on one. I hope this one will do justice to something- I was thinking about refugees coming across the sea and thinking about loss and grace and gain all at the same time.
Inky Cat's Poems 