Birds & Children Its’ because we are told to be silent That we shout from tree branches – “Hey its’ me, right here, here, right here. Look, its’ me. Attention, attention, I’m here up in a tree, aren’t I grand”. © SB Joy, 2022
Skinned A family can survive major pruning. The loss of parent, grandparent, child. However, a family tree can’t survive without its bark. The stripping away of my childhood’s outer layer. The intentional toughing up routines backfired, thinning the skin until raw and every word or touch burned like a bare light socket sunk into my …
Sour Words streamed from my eyes pooling into a paragraph of tangerines, lemons & limes. Oh, how I wish I never tasted you, Mother’s milk. © SB Joy, 2021 mother’s milk gone soured. SBJ
MOnsteR How is it I was terrified as a child and no one took notice? Most likely it was because those in charge of noticing were the monsters under the bed. They were the conundrum. Without them I would die, with them I may die. A child stuck in mid-air, weightless, unattached, discombobulated. What to …
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