Sitting on the steps of my old boarding house
Sitting on the steps of my old boarding house
the very same steps, where
all those years ago
my mum and dad left me
in the care of a man
I’d never met
I resist the urge to rush
whatever this DIY ceremony needs to be
– even though a strange, middle-aged man
sitting on the steps of a junior boarding house
ain’t necessarily a good look
For something deep inside has called me here
I close my eyes
and try to recall
who I was back then
and how the housemaster distracted me with conversation
and when I turn around
both mum and dad are walking away
but they don’t look back
and it feels like a sledge-hammer swung
against my ten-year-old heart
and I feel that unguarded, innocent heart of mine
shattering into a thousand pieces
And yet somehow I instantly knew
that I could not call out to them
nor could I run after them
and yet neither could I fall apart
that I had to survive
whatever this daylight nightmare was
and whatever it implied
about how safe and loveable
I truly am
Sometimes as children we have to bear
the unbearable
and ram a thousand furious energies
into a box
lock the box
and then
whatever the price
bury the box deep within
We all come from long lines of fierce survivors
And sometimes as adults
we are called to follow the treasure maps
held within our bones
and to retrieve
and to open
those boxes
I remind myself to keep breathing
as calmly as I can
– some scaffolders are erecting some scaffolding nearby
and no one seems to have noticed my unusual presence
and as I breathe
(as calmly as I can)
I find myself singing a simple song of return
softly
to the boy I once was
and when I’m sure
that he’s truly heard me
I know my time upon these steps
is done
Out of nowhere
I suddenly imagine rocking up in an old, bright red Daimler Convertible
opening the passenger door
and calling out
“Get in!”
“We’re out of here for ever, my beautiful boy!” I tell him
And when I’m sure that boy
is safely installed beside me
I feel such a strong and gentle, grief-forged joy
put the car into gear
and off we go
beaming at one another with reunited love
and not once
turning around
to look back
Sitting on the steps of my old boarding house
the very same steps, where
all those years ago
my mum and dad left me
in the care of a man
I’d never met
I resist the urge to rush
whatever this DIY ceremony needs to be
– even though a strange, middle-aged man
sitting on the steps of a junior boarding house
ain’t necessarily a good look
For something deep inside has called me here
I close my eyes
and try to recall
who I was back then
and how the housemaster distracted me with conversation
and when I turn around
both mum and dad are walking away
but they don’t look back
and it feels like a sledge-hammer swung
against my ten-year-old heart
and I feel that unguarded, innocent heart of mine
shattering into a thousand pieces
And yet somehow I instantly knew
that I could not call out to them
nor could I run after them
and yet neither could I fall apart
that I had to survive
whatever this daylight nightmare was
and whatever it implied
about how safe and loveable
I truly am
Sometimes as children we have to bear
the unbearable
and ram a thousand furious energies
into a box
lock the box
and then
whatever the price
bury the box deep within
We all come from long lines of fierce survivors
And sometimes as adults
we are called to follow the treasure maps
held within our bones
and to retrieve
and to open
those boxes
I remind myself to keep breathing
as calmly as I can
– some scaffolders are erecting some scaffolding nearby
and no one seems to have noticed my unusual presence
and as I breathe
(as calmly as I can)
I find myself singing a simple song of return
softly
to the boy I once was
and when I’m sure
that he’s truly heard me
I know my time upon these steps
is done
Out of nowhere
I suddenly imagine rocking up in an old, bright red Daimler Convertible
opening the passenger door
and calling out
“Get in!”
“We’re out of here for ever, my beautiful boy!” I tell him
And when I’m sure that boy
is safely installed beside me
I feel such a strong and gentle, grief-forged joy
put the car into gear
and off we go
beaming at one another with reunited love
and not once
turning around
to look back
