I find peace in being self aware

rather than trying to decide

if there is something bigger than me out there.

So when Poe writes about Annabel Lee

and her tomb in the sea, 

or when Heathcliff begs Cathy at the tree

to haunt him, I see my own face

in varying guises of the past. 

I do not see the mist between a netherworld

and us, an after us, an after life. 

I see the girl who was frightened 

of how much life

she heard balling up inside her; life

which sounded like anger, like memories

haunting me more than the sound of my present,

my voice and all its power.

I see the girl who was given love 

but struggled to keep it – to know how 

to store it, to stop it vanishing with her breath

on wintry mornings.

I see the girl who tried to find a God 

or something higher

and was only led to herself. It is within 

this body of mine that I now find peace

and cocoon the girl’s little hands 

in my palms, wrap my arms around her:

I hold her, to hold myself better 

than anyone else can.

 

---

 

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

https://linktr.ee/KristianaReed