Orphans stop waiting

It comes to me from time to time that moment and that conversation - a haunting weight I knew even then would leave a heavier imprint than one would've guessed. She said to me at the library as we worked on the art project how orphans stop waiting once they get used to the wait…

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Roots

Where are my roots?My mother, my father or my homewhose walls still scream and cry like mePerhaps, in my grandfather's libraryin my town of white orchids and bluebellsof winding paths, and St. Paul's ParishIn the songbirds on the old white treethat Sr. Emrencia told us aboutIn the blue mountains and stone templesof my misty, pine…

Home

I see myself, in warm weatherUnder deciduous shade, boughs droop above me, sultry, swelter, shelterGolden orbs floating around Green lights above me, River powdered in leafy neon, scattering, swirling, streaming...The usual icy nip of my hilly home giving in to the sun and letting go, breathing easy, breathing warm.I'm safe here. Dipped in nature. Surrounded…

Reminiscence, haiku

Miss the afternoonsreading at home, while it rained ...and I dreamt of moors

Recognition

In a thousand lives I would recognise those eyes as yours and as mine