No translation

We speak different love languages
Mine is words,
His is affection
And despite his best attempts
And my enthusiastic moaning
And even a few counselling sessions;
Seven years in, we are no closer
To speaking the same tongue
And I have realised, it is fine
We are fine.
I will always be the one who writes
Lyrically about our love,
Capture the challenges in prose
Write essays in anniversary cards.
He will always be the one who
Shows love, who holds me every night
In a gorilla grip,
Who is practical, even when it comes to
Matters of the heart,
His cards an eloquent
I love you and the gift something
Purposeful.
And I will admit,
That I have learnt his language
Become accustomed to it,
And in the dead of night
In his arms
I believe
Everything will be alright.

copyright Hiraeth 2016

Water is home

The water was his home,
Long before our paths intersected;
A safe place where his soul
Would come alive in
The rhythm, spray, crashing of the waves.
The chaos at home was forgotten,
Buried as soon as his feet touched
The sand and solitude became a
Comfort to that which was,
And could not be.
He would stay there for hours,
Long after the last surfer left
And sunrise beckoned the night
To arrive.
I still see it when I watch him:
He comes alive in the water,
His movements fluid, as if the
Water breaks to meet him,
An old and faithful friend.
His wait for the right wave
A meditation, reflection of beauty.
And I know home for him is our family,
But a part will always be
In the sea.

Copyright Hiraeth 2016

Ok

What I love most
About you
Is that you make me
Believe it will all be ok,
(With a pack of cigarettes
In your pocket)
As long as we live
Moment to moment
In the present, we will make it,
We will be ok.
I run ahead, make plans,
Concoct scenarios in my head,
What if you, what if I,
What if they…
See our future unfold, sometimes
Crack, end.
You turn me back
And say
Here,
Right now,
This is what matters
And most times
I believe you.

Copyright Hiraeth 2016

Home

This is the house
Our home, our end.
Here the ponytail tree we bought for our fifth anniversary. The winds of change have left it bent, willowed, dry.
Here the weathered leather couch, a companion from our student days. Etched on its leather hours of cuddling, studying, sunday sex and the moment you said we were done.
Here our kitchen, neatly remodelled with every appliance of your choice, the coffee machine desperate for capsules, desperate for the aroma of caffeine mixed with conversation and Springsteen lamenting life, the smell of home.
Here the bed, far too small to hold our truth. At night it wakes, mocks you with the truth: I am gone, I have left.
Here the home we built and every dream we ever held, every hope I ever put in you.
And now
Home is a black suitcase
Marked fragile,
Handle with care.

Copyright Hiraeth 2015

Perfect

Here is our home
With our white iron gate,
The symbol of perfection,
Every painting, couch, plate.
We never argue, disagree,
Just stay long enough
And you will see.
That this reality, portrait of us
Should have lasted
Been enough
(and maybe it was,
but
I
was
not).

Copyright Hiraeth 2015
PAD Challenge 2015 Day 6:
For today’s prompt, write a things-not-as-they-appear poem. Poetry is filled with metaphors, similes, symbols, and layered meanings, so this should be a softball prompt.

Home is here

Your place is here
And lest you forget and
Uncertainty brings fear,
I’ll be here to remind you:
Your place is here.
As storms gather and threaten
To wreck and ruin,
With summer skies of youth
Gone too soon,
I’ll be here to remind you:
Your place is here.
As life ends and we question why
With little answers as comfort
Yet we will and try,
I’ll be here to remind you:
Your place is here.
And one day when He
Has the final say,
You’ll know you had a home,
A place to stay;
And it will be clear:
Your place was here.

Copyright Hiraeth 2014