We’re going on a journey, you and I.
We’re going into the wilderness in search of a child.
It will be a difficult journey, but she’s worth it.
You see, someone told her to hide.
And no one else told her she didn’t have to do that.
They told her to be good;
To be helpful;
To be quiet;
To love God,
And to obey her elders.
But no one told her she didn’t have to hide.
They said, “Children should be seen and not heard!’
“I’m busy, go play.”
They said, “don’t interrupt when we’re busy,
Or talking,
Or resting.”
But no one said, “Don’t listen to him or do what he says.”
So she carefully hid herself from them.
She became a conspirator in a game she didn’t want to play.
She’s hiding now.
Her screams are silent,
Her rage is bound within clenched jaws
And knotted stomach.
The walls of her dungeon are thick and high.
It’s hard to see people through them.
It’s especially hard to see God.
But she has left us clues,
Because she doesn’t want to stay there.
She wants to break out and dance in the sunshine.
She wants to know it’s OK to be pretty and femine;
And even sexy.
But the fear that caused her to build her own prison
Is very strong.
And it’s hard to trust those who would tear down the walls.
After all, he might be gone but the rage is not.
Where will the rage go?
Who will it hurt?
Will it be as uncontrollable as a breaking dam?
She has a lot to fear.
We know she’s nearby.
We can feel her trembling.
We can almost hear her telling her story,
Over
And over
And over.
Endlessly repeating it where no one hears.
Keeping the grown-up child so busy
She can’t concentrate on important things.
The whispering child sitting in the darkness;
Holding tightly to all the feelings I need to feel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
c.1998 Donna Swanson
MY SAFE PLACE
You were always there
being faithful,
when I could not trust;
being strong
when I was afraid to be weak.
You were the Oak
when my weeping willow heart
could not bear to put down roots.
You were always there loving me
in spite of myself.
Holding me
with all my prickles;
accepting me
when I could only pretend to give.
When anger I could not acknowledge
pushed you away,
you only went far enough
to give me space.
Not knowing the source of my pain,
I lashed out at life.
Not knowing the source of my pain,
you bore it with me.
How far we have come, my love;
finding friendship in the autumn,
finding love in the twilight.
Let the poets sing of young love
and the fires of youth.
We will write our sonnets on yellowed pages
and find them sweeter than springtime!
