Trust
It is hard to trust
when fear leaves
your mouth bone dry
and your tongue lies
locked, words departed
and only the whispered
prayers of childhood
run through your mind
rote learnt and repeated
like mantras of familiarity
Out of nowhere
I stumble on symbols of trust
the gold-rimmed pudding bowls
my grandmother saved for
during the war
the steely resolve that she passed
on through her own wounded and terrified genes;
a black and white photograph of her
striding into an unknown land
continents away from her homeTears will fertilise tomorrow’s flowers
anger mobilised to action;
the pudding bowls waiting
to once again hold the sweetness of life
© Tanya Southey
#52words52weeks
