Squirming ‘twixt the bedsheets,
With the only heater in the house,
He feels his head spasm mid-dream,
In carefree reaction.
Or is it more sky piercings invading
Him; White Noise Ring-A-Ding anyway;
He can’t tell.
Since this revolution started,
The adults start using scary new words,
For terrifying things he had never heard before,
Much less seen and known before,
Like ‘MiG’, ‘Scud’, ‘Chemical’,
With each comes associations of smell,
Of texture, of the onset of panic signals,
Of a harbinger of a foetal retreat.
Repetition, repetition, repetition,
I yell screamer, screamer, screamer
Can’t stop I can’t stop so let’s talk about it.
If we talk about it maybe we’ll make it go away,
If we hug and laugh about it, we make some way to play.
Grown-ups come and say nice words but then go away,
Ask me to draw pictures they say wow it’s bad but it’s all I see.
It’s all I see where is baba they said bad man on wall picture,
Everywhere in the street,
Is hurting my baba. What did he do…
Heart-vested Teddy, lay beside him
Squeeze you tight, he clings,
A latching, pear-shaped cling,
For bracing embrace, rejuvenating,
But some pang beneath reaches to the surface.
Fitting away from you, Venn diagram gestures
Fan out to convince himself.
But morsels of love unleash a volcano within,
A Volcano so powerful it doesn’t stop the flow,
Of tears, of loss, of bloodletting groves,
It sears into memory, the lumps in the throat,
Of longing, yearning, hoping, creating,
The lines, crayons, synapses renewing your image.
Blood dries, my soul coruscating;
You stand in fields of harvested tomatoes,
Endlessly renewing your image.
You clutch a vegetable bowl so colourful,
You smile, taking me by the hand, and we’re breathing,
The omnipresent sunshine subsides in ambience,
We’re breathing every last molecule of air, the pollen drifts
We’re just bees, bees, and boy this is our honey.
So baba, my love eruption, my love eruption.