Journeys

There is something
about airplanes –
Travelling alone
in the dark night sky
when anything
seems possible
And all your journeys
Seem to be taking you
to that one point you
have been waiting for

Cocooned in metal
wrapped in your seat
your senses able
to only focus
in the space in front
of you and inside of you
And you realise
that inside of you is
a vastness, bigger
than the place you are
going to

I remember one trip
Flying in the inky black
night – it was winter
and I am sure Mozart was
streaming through my headphones
We circled over Singapore
the ocean beneath us
was filled with boats
In the darkness
it was hard to make out
their shapes
but their lights
looked like stars
and as we came in to land
it was like landing on the sky.

© Tanya Southey @Ordinary Poetry

Share on Facebook

Uncategorized

I have been with you
since I was an idea
in your girlhood
when movies were black
and white and you wore
bobby socks with
flared rock and roll
skirts and you dreamt
of motherhood.
You whispered me
into reality.

I have no concept
of your mortality
Not until recently
when you lay
slack-jawed
with machines
breathing for you
You looked
bird-like
vulnerable
It made me blink
with lack of comprehension
I wanted to shake
I wanted to shake you
Have a two year old tantrum
Tell you
to stop acting
It’s not funny
I wanted to
simultaneously
laugh and sob
at the sight of you
Laugh because it seemed
you were pretending
to be sick and you were
doing it so well
Sob because you looked
So weak

You are my mother
You were here before me
It makes no sense
that my beginning
can have an ending.

© Tanya Southey @Ordinary Poetry

Share on Facebook

Uncategorized

I understand you want me
to stand in reverence
at dawn
when the bugle breaks
the clouds
and mournfully rouses
the birds who have
not yet stirred
in their nests
I understand you want me
to stand in the cold
with millions of others
in the silence of candles
while the gun salutes
blast through the memories
inherited in my cells
I understand you would like me
to revere the soldiers who fought
for peace, I rationally know it was
necessary but
I struggle with the juxtaposition
of those words “fought for peace”
Ironic

I need you to understand
my great-grandparents’
hands being found
in the rubble of their
bombed Rotterdam home
Their wedding rings
identifying them –
Which strangers held
their hands?
Hands that had held
so many children.
Hands that had loved
and worked
Hands that had rubbed
rosary beads
and prayed for peace
Strangers picking up their hands
from the rubble
Did they examine their life lines?
Was their fate noticeable
in those empty palms?
Strangers’ hands typing the
telegram
from the Red Cross
Short sentences
Stop
They are dead
Stop
Tell Alice gently
Stop

Stop
I do not mean
to offend you
but
I would struggle to stand
with millions at dawn
I prefer to light my own candles,
Invoke a light on the world
and stare at my
hands and wonder if
in any way they
resemble theirs.

© Tanya Southey @Ordinary Poetry

Share on Facebook

Uncategorized