top of page

Last Winter

Sitting The fire’s making me sweat Beads on my forehead and upper lip

The rain is pattering on the tin roof

And I am sitting next to the void

looking in

It is about what I feel

The feeling is night The feeling is warmth The feeling is kinship

Of the sleeping animals

The fire orange and amber light

The feeling knots my brow together And tightens my upper chest My upper stomach lurches and hurls and my abdomen paralyses

Seeking outward,

I can hear the sighs of the dog the purr of the cat the drops of the rain and the beat and the tune on the radio

My other half talks in his sleep a sporadic language that only he understands and the raindrops get heavier My body gets heavy

Then, I see the light of the fire and I hear the embers twinkle.

6 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


Colonialisation and PTSD

Why do people in power and privelege get stupendous fees for talking and directing things that they have never experienced for themselves but think they are experts because they have a theory or an id


bottom of page