Slowly I am shedding
of a life I dreamed about

With great effort
I walk forth
leaving behind
the arguments I never started
the quiet tears
on the other side of the phone
the storms in my
when his words thundered down
I leave too
all the little ways
in which he brought me joy

I look ahead
and hope
for better days;
wiser choices.

I choose to do things
God’s way
whatever that looks like
I know it will lead me
where I am meant to be.


Little girl dreams.

I looked to you for the heart of a father
and found an 8-year-old boy
after seeing a ghost
lifting up
from the corpse
of the woman who brought him into the world.

You ran away
toughened up
refused to cry
Sobered with drink

Patched your wounds
with salt and ashes
from the ashtray
you got at a market
Thought it didn’t matter;
it was all in the past,
it was OK.

I looked to you for the heart of a father
and found your veins
bursting with
a tsunami of grief
that covered our homes
destroying little girl dreams.

I spill colours.

I am large
with expectation.
My belly is round,
hips full
swaying from side to side
caught in the rhythm
of the Pacific Ocean.

I spill colours on the pavement
I forget smiles on the metro
I’ve shed memories on the train
worn trainers to work
unfriended people on Facebook.

I am loud
with laughter
and sarcasm

I dissolve, sometimes
I shrink
so others can bloom
be heard, be happy…

There is fire in my eyes
Spanish sunshine on my skin
A mélange of colours in my hair
ComPassion in my veins –
Relentless strength.

Keeping calm, anyone?

Nobody can tell you that it will be okay
what does that even mean?
Are we all suddenly going to be safe?
In a big house, out in the country,
birds chirping, people arguing about the bake off…
While out there somebody decided it would be a good idea
to drop a few bombs on so called psychopaths
and your friends are being tear-gassed because they
went out to the streets to stand up for what they want.

There’s pain wherever you look,
inside and out.
And you wish there were words to articulate the confusion –
lay it out neatly, solve it, keep calm.
You wish you could think your way out of this one,
you desperately want to DO something.
But what can you do?

Evil closes in on you.
It oozes from your screen.
It is sticky, revolting.
Do you look away?
No! You engage. But how?

Nobody can tell me that it will be okay.
I look up sometimes. I see hope sometimes.
But mostly I see blood and tears. Do you?

Along the river bank.

I miss you. Again. I am very tired of missing you.
After all, you chose to leave. You ceased to write or call
or send birthday cards.

I miss you even though you never liked my poems
or my drawings and paintings or my rants about exhibitions.

I miss you even though you didn’t like my taste in sitcoms
and thought I wouldn’t be able to appreciate your music.

I miss you even though we are so unsuitable for each other.

I miss you because you saw me. You wanted to know me,
for me.

You didn’t want my theological knowledge
or my grades. You weren’t even after my body.
You saw beyond all that.  Always.

You are incredibly beautiful. Utterly loved.
Wonderfully made.
I hope you know that now.

I miss you. And I look out the window
and walk along the river bank
hoping to see you again.

I never do. I walk on.




– Yessica Dædalus, 2013