There are things that cannot be mended, cannot be fixed, cannot be found. We try all the time to find the reason, call the name, find the cure. But sometimes it just does not exist. And all the brown paper and glue cannot make it right again. We tumbled down that hill and our bruises are as real and yellow as canaries or sunflowers or daffodils. They are also the colour of chardonnay, the colour of perfume, the colour of a glass of Powers Gold Label. Canaries sing down the mines, sing in their cages. Daffs and sunflowers spread their pollen like poison, etching misty fingers in an indelible path. But bruises will fade, pass away, leaving only a trace on the skin. Jaundice will do its part too. And carrots, apparently. Even weak sunshine will leave its yellow shadow on some. Yellow used to be such a pretty colour in our youth, but as we age it has become the colour of urine When we are broken, we cannot dream any more. This can be called a state of yellow. The yellow belly of defeat. And how do we mend? This is also the colour of yellow. The bright […]Continue reading
The umbilical cord Stretches as far as the eye cannot see And beyond that which the mind cannot imagine. It has infinite elastic and give, Timeless reach and understanding For things and worlds that I cannot hope to comprehend. As my parents before me turned their lives upside down And accepted on trust the new worlds I gave them So too I reach out and hold my children’s new truths, new livings, new infinites. There is very little old in the new Snippets and snatches of times before But most is new forged, new gotten, begotten And the old is mostly forgotten. Save for the combined tug tied up in the sinewy cord A tug that pulls back even as it gives forward An army of mothers have passed it along And it loops and pools over generations, through families and out of sight A sinewy thread that binds as it loosens, tugs as it gives Holding and giving and letting go. © Jillian Godsil 2012Continue reading
…to feel warm sand between my toes. Of course, the last time I’d enjoyed a sun holiday was when my children were very young. Fast forward through recession, divorce and financial ruin and it had been almost twenty years. And now I weighed in at almost 26 stone. I may well have lost a few pounds, pun pun, along the way but I had bulked up on my weight. My obese body was a bulwark again the world, that horrible shivering miserable mess that lay in wait for me. With food there was no answering back, no reproachful looks, no tearful conversations. Just plain satisfaction and I could call the shots. Of course, while it was wonderful to feel the sand between my toes, I could not see them. My large breasts and rolling belly obscured all views of what might lie below. Unless I sat well back in the sun lounge and pushed my toes out, only then could I see the tips of my fat toes and feet. ‘Oh hello toes’ I said. ‘Enjoying the sun and the sand?’ The other problem with being obese was burning. There was more skin than ever, skin stretched tight over mountainous […]Continue reading
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