It seems to me
That these sad eyes have looked
Into the dark heart of so many winters
When flesh was torn from bone
In a metaphorical sense
By a pack of young jackals
Leaving that young tender heart
Faltering on a precipice of becoming
That seemed entirely
Insurmountable
So now
All these years hence
Those memories
Summoned up by the encroach of autumn
Can only be carried silently
Like an untellable truth
Whose meaning would be lost
On those who never endured such difficulty
No way really to tell
Of all the heart endured
Of the emptiness and pain
That she tried to cover over
So inefficiently
Now there seems no longer any escape
So she must learn to live with all of this
Finding a way to make of it
Some form of art
For there really is no forgetting
And the emptiness that streches before her like an ocean
Seems to threaten a drowning
So all she can do is try to find
A way to breathe
Under water
In the midst of this
Encroaching winter
Emerging From The Dark Night 
Reblogged this on Emerging From The Dark Night and commented:
This poem was written only a few months after my Mum died in December 2017. The emotional desert experienced was ancestral in so many ways… Winter no longer brings up so many of these feelings now that I have navigated that inner psychological terrain. Winter now is a time I can draw close to healing sources of inner warmth and comfort. But the poignancy of ancestral truth in this poem still deeply resonates for me.
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