This week’s poem, written this morning about yesterday. It must speak for itself. It is still too raw to be spoken for.

Grounded

‘You’re not grounded’, softly said.

Pats my naked foot.

Soft probing fingers pressed

Every aching tissue

Every clenched muscle

Stirred every blocked synapse and gland.

Soft words, touch. Trigger

Tingling and aching floods from cells

Toes, finger tips, marrow,

Overwhelms the too small place in my tear ducts,

My nasal cavity. Head throbs,

Tears flood and trickle from the hollows of my eyes

But politeness prevails,

Unshed tears

Unsaid words

Un-howled pain.

I wipe the ruined mascara,

Sip cool water, put shoes on bare feet.

Breathe, but not too deeply,

Step, but not too firmly.

Boiling lava and brooding volcanoes are the earth.

I am not grounded.

Kampala 2017