Mending.

Photo by Nilay Ramoliya from Pexels

I have sewn these seams a hundred times:
Letting out,
Taking in,

Adjusting for change,
Suturing wounds
And mending the tears
Through which too many have left, 
Exposing for a moment
That which I wish to keep hidden:
Tender flesh, secret places, 
A soul worn and tattered; 
Safely concealed 
Beneath the careful tailoring
And confident colour
Of that which I display to the world.

Today,
In the quietness of my sanctuary,
I gather my fraying finery
Close to my breast,
Protective of its frailty,
I  weep, 
Overwhelmed by the agony
Of an injury so profound
It may never be repaired.

And then,
Because I have no choice,
I begin to stitch,
Yet again.

©2020 Joanne Van Leerdam

Full.

“I’m full of good ideas,” I told him,
“Full of something,” he promptly said,
And he was right: there’s always more
Than just bright ideas in my head.

Vivid memories stream on a cinema screen,
To a soundtrack of favourite songs,
A maple tree full of autumn leaves
So my heart can visit where it belongs.
There’s a flowing river of storylines
And a deep well of imagery,
A box full of timely lessons, hard learned,
And useful facts from world history.
The walls are lined with shelves of books
And pictures of beloved faces,
There’s a graveyard to visit with those who have passed
And doorways to favourite places.

And right at the back, where no-one can see,
In the darkest part of my brain,
There’s a very deep hole where I throw away
Things I don’t want to think of again.

©2018 Joanne Van Leerdam

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