A Stranger Passing
A stranger passing Gail Gilbride
A stranger passing would never notice
the colour of fynbos
and wild raw woundedness of grief
foaming in a back corner.
By Sandra Hill
Curled up
hugging my body
huge well of grief.
The bubble protects me
with its golden light.
Swirling body of pain
heart-wrenching wrongs
unspeakable accusations
from a feverish jealous godless mind.
A stranger passing would never notice
my escape. The shy deer treads softly.
Gentle eyes make careful contact
as I turn swiftly follow him
my gipsy skirt flimsy
my body firm intact.
In nature untamed
colours glisten
the colour of fynbos.
Words fly in the ether
still find their way to my ears
thrust the unspeakable upon me
wielding evil power against me
wounding fatally.
Every fibre rebels.
I reach up snatch those words
try to assuage
the wild raw woundedness of grief.
And even here
where the shy deer treads
and all is snow covered
pristine innocent-seeming
I wait.
I know they will find me.
There is no escape when
a veneer of civilization covers
barbaric cruel hearts
foaming in a back corner.
Copyright © Gail Gilbride Bohle | Year Posted 2014
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