Voices

By Máire Morrissey

 

After the storm

there is a stillness,

it descends like a soft drizzle

to bless the morning.

 

Down by the cove,

the gulls gather 

to bathe in rain filled rock pools.

Great mounds of seaweed

cloak the strand,

and there is one woman 

going in for a swim.

I watch her stride out

to find her depth 

and I too am swimming 

wading into the waves,

the heavy crawl out

of abuse.

 

For I know the twists and turns of the tide

the tormentors of every proportion,

Kin no longer counts,

no more duty or obligation,

a life of shame.

 

November storms in

and I awaken

to feelings of being hunted,

the panic of so much still to do,

old expectations,

self hate and blame,

 

but I ask my racing heart 

what would you like to do,

 

and in the silence

I hear the voice

that has been shouting warnings

all of these years.

I choose to listen to her cries

of sixty odd years.

I put my arms around her

and together, 

we walk home.

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Photo by Alexandra Borovova on Unsplash