Category: Poetry

by Heather Allen

Breathe out your pain and keep breathing out

Breathe in to the echo of the dawn of the world

One breath, then another, and on to another

With the whole world breathing along with you

As the world has breathed since the dawn of time

And your time a million moments in a single breath

It comes to this – air in, air out

Air charging blood and life the flood

That flows, that glows with a vital heat

With each heartbeat, and beating ever on

And when the breath stops, still the world goes on

But every breath goes on forever

Every moment capturing an age

As a bright drop of rain that sparkles in the sun

Arrests you with a flash that slashes the veil of time

Now there’s just you here, standing, breathing

Riding the rim of the world as the stars turn with you

These treasures from times past sparkle at your feet

And the earth moves on regardless as you keep breathing out

by Heather Allen

 

She dusts the china and looks through the window of

her beautiful glass house, bathed in morning sunlight

Her mind is misted but her eyes are dancing

as she stands tall and upright, white-haired and limber,

feet firmly planted on the scrubbed stone floor

where the sunshine sparkles through the polished panes

 

She strokes the leaves and smiles as bees

awakened, seek the precious nectar

These scented blooms help her remember

the hands that held the spade that dug the earth

 

She stares through the glass and the glass mists,

so she pulls out her old lace handkerchief,

absently wipes the pane, and once again

she thinks of his strong brown arms about her

 

She closes her eyes and breathes in, smiling,

feels the spring sun warming her cool pale face

Now her heart quickens, she knows he’s behind her,

his big body solid, still present, still breathing!

She’s sure he’s there, she feels him for certain,

so she turns with arms wide and opens her eyes:

but there’s nothing but empty air to greet her.

 

Yet as she sees it, he’s always with her;

among the pelargoniums and the china dolls,

surveying the garden from their beautiful glass house:

they’re together at breakfast, the sun streaming in,

at ease in the wicker chairs, toast and hot coffee,

and The Times left open on the letters page

Talking of everything, talking of nothing,

while their time ticks on, and on, and on…

 

Now she is one; drinking coffee alone.

His chair, untouched and undisturbed

still angled to the sun. He’s waiting there,

while she sniffs the blooms and plucks dead leaves,

then wipes the table that’s already clean

and asks him: “What shall we do today?”

The dust in the air shifts ever so slightly:

she smiles, content, and turns to face the glass.