healing

Home safe, at last

The omphalos – the navel

This is my place of healing

This is my life in my

Navelbowl. I must not

Let it spill empty, I must

Keep it full, the seat of

My whole, the connection

That birthed me from

Ancestors, I tried

To exist without it,

It is the door to the

Home that is me, I

Was locked out and

Now I am in, I am

My body, at last.

How old am I? My age is…

A leap of time
Between Death and
Knowing;  

Curving
Round my soul,
It streaks out to the
Stars, becoming light,

It fuels
Me on or in or
Back or round,  

Depending
On how I look at it or
Listen in.

Patience, patient.

If myself were distilled into

A test tube and held up to the

Light now, it would be two feet,

A bit of br ain between the ey es

And the ache where the lungs meat.

 

The rest is being kept

In another cabinet,

Access has been barred

And bureaucracy is quick

To thicken the dust on this key

 

There is the hope of everything

Being in that jar, housing

The organs I once owned.

The promise of wholeness, of

Complete myself, stowed away.

 

I’ll pay whatever it takes, I’ll

Take whatever works and spit out

Whatever doesn’t and if nothing does

I’ll smash the glass and let my guts

Mingle with the mud, set free forever.

Outside

Take yourself out of

Yourself, just far

Enough to see

Without your glasses

Where the trouble is,

The sore and stinging

Itch, the blister,

There, beside the

Heart, where

Anger and frustration

Have rubbed freckles

Raw and no more

Skin is left to

Shield the soul.

 

Having stopped to

Look, having seen

The pain, the plaster

Will do to stop

Infection spilling

From the broken

Rim of wound.

Soon the blood will

Do its work and anger will subsist,

Just be sure to

Keep things clean

With love and watchful

Pride.