My heart is in there somewhere

Three men stand
Guardians of the fog
My heart is in there somewhere.
If I staggered out
They would find me.

But I’m staying in
The fog = Mother
How could I leave Mother
How could I know Mother?
My heart beats in there somewhere.

Beats for you Mother
My beat = your beat
Or doesn’t beat
Lips sealed with wax
Tears stopped, scream stifled.

And rage?
If you dropped a stone
The fog would eat it
Like a microwave: from inside out.

Fog is the opposite of rage
Flesh-eating, desiccating fog
Till all is left is a dried-up thing.
It croaks
Something shrivelled, curled-up, forgotten.

Rain
Soaking into my parched earth.
Earth becomes mud
Between my toes.
Your lips
Wet

Wet
My body tingling
Touch – tingling – alive.
Compost for my shrivelled roots.
Your hand
and my exploding heart.

My exploding heart.
Exploding because it can’t contain
the gift
of your commitment.

What is this thing love?
That three men would stand guarding the fog.
because
because my heart beats in there somewhere.
How could I not explode?
at the enormity of this gift.

Lucy, a bird cradled in your hands
Still warm.
I am that bird
Needing your hands
To know I exist.

Contain me
Until I can find the ground.
Cradled in fog, and yet…

I am seen
I am heard
I am touched
I am emerging

(and nobody is turning away)

And I am not turning away.