One Day Years From Now She Will Find Them by Cath Campbell

I am not a silent poet

A five year old girl doesn’t have the words.
A five year old girl believes what he says,
that he will kill her mother and her father,
that he loves her, that it’s normal, that she is special.
A five year old girl is tiny, is not as strong as he
though he pretends there is nothing he wouldn’t do
for her, to her, because of her; that he is besotted.
She recalls the word because it rhymes with clotted.
That is how her throat feels when she wakes
from nightmares of being suffocated,
which no one else understands.
A five year old girl doesn’t have the words,
but every line is recorded onto her skin.

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.. cooking carrots, and thinking of belief ..

Chimera

orange.

it is a source of inspiration, and research. it is written, yet having writ. we use. imagination, add a dose of suggestion, slightly thinking this is fact we do not move on when perhaps we should. so moving on quickly……

cut them.

maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.   need to count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps us safely, leads us onward.

simmer them.

what about this list, to do it before you die, well as she said, you probably can’t do it after. some may disagree – another belief. we try not to judge, yet that  bucket was not worth five pound,so

we paid two.

strain them.
ready for later.

sbm.

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