‘Look into my eyes,’ he says. ‘See the words I can not say.’ I’m scared though. I find his neck instead with my face. He is so solid, so alive. So real. My man is warm. He fills my veins with tiny humming birds. When we touch. When we kiss they fly. They soar and… Continue reading Shelter
Month: April 2023
The Silence
A poem about shunning and religious excommunication.
Emma
This is supposed to be safer than back home. That’s what I thought anyway as I walked the seven miles into Belfast. I can handle the cold wet pavement beneath me, even though it has me soaked through and is hurting my hip. I’ve got a sleeping bag that some lady gave me. And a bit of cardboard underneath. Her kindness should have made me cry.