Things seen, made, heard…
One Child
In her bedroom.
Listening.
Listening to lessen the pain of seeing.
But sound-spores of Their fights and rows
Have been sown.
And though by day,
She stows them deeper and deeper down,
In the damp dark silence,
They root and grow and stalk.
Seeded and full fruited, we lay. 
Our prickled hard-cased feelings
Peeled and squirreled away
For a brighter, braver day.
The weight,
The crushing,
Rushing
Mad-slide
Of fear.
Still, waiting for word
Of their loved one.
A subtle causeway
Floods,
Subsides,
As inside,
The rip tide
Of your lies
Erodes
Those roads
We built
Between us.
Sometimes,
The sky
Above
Is enough.
Some days
It’s all
I can
Hope for.
A sketch I did some years ago, with a little PS colour ‘wash’ added today.
Blanket tide
Drawn high
Under the thin chin
Of the raw moon.
A cup of tea and a quick sketch of two women in a cafe.
(Digital colour ‘wash’ added at home). Julie Bryce 2014
