Button

Bad dreams, the old one where I'm stuck half way

In my parents' house, or they in mine, angry, frustrated,

Ending with my fierce resolve to find my home.

Waking, needing to convince myself we already do, are home.

Not entirely sure, rattled, sticky dreams lingering in my heart.


My father was only an unseen presence, watching TV in

The Laundry, taking over our newest space as if owned.

His early harassment, for all the damage, may have inoculated.

Violent reflex button installed then, triggers a scream & swing,

No one startles me for fun twice. Gold from dross.

Graupel

Beauty all around. Love and kindness. Light and hope lurk.

Wind turned to rain turned to snow yesterday, graupel actually.

Welcome turning. Enduring anxiety with grim determination, I wait impatiently.

Better dreams last night, of crumbling away the white sepulchres.

House cleans up well, gleaming quietly to herself, a hum.


Watching Dylan dealing with his family, his feelings coming clear.

Where mine were abusive, his were neglectful, manipulative and assumptive.

And he is himself. So he must deal. As himself.

In his own way, his own time, as I stand aside.

We all walk our own path, if we live well.

Golden 32/100

Moby in his garden. He doesn't go far, or fast

But he clearly loves going outside, dirt under his paws,

Breeze in his fur, aromas around, grass to chew, light.




"So. Whatcha think?" "I like it quiet." "Oh, fine then."



She explores the new room with some trepidation, easily startled.

Moby still not down with anything new these days, typical.



The screen suffices nicely, the throne behind discrete and private.

New rose decided one more bloom before winter. Golden celebration.