Episode 4: Drawing Lines
Hi everyone, I hope you’re doing as well as you can. This week’s poem pilots us into an argument between a child and their father that has soured, where he has reverted to hurtful, personal attacks. The voice in this poem carries us deeper into this instance—the child’s acknowledgement of overwhelm; a moment of mindful connecting to their five senses; and a deep compassion and awareness of the seed of their father’s hurt. At the end of the poem, there is a call—the narrator speaking to themselves—to understand the root of rot, boundaries, and capacity to both hold space and invite those who have caused harm into it—if they’re willing.
I’ll share it with you now:
Mid argument
I stopped absorbing the
threats, insults, attacks on my being and values—
inhumanity—
now TV static and inaudible radio ranting.
I tried to separate
you
and your insensitive words,
but they corkscrewed into the top
of my head, like a wine opener
burrowing to uncork
my body bottle’s blood.
Cannot agree to disagree on
pronouncements that dysregulate
my nervous system.
I had to clot your unravelling of the
energy thread weaving through
the life of the planet.
Beneath hot tap water, my thumbs finger-paint leftover honey and peanut butter until they slip off breakfast plates.
I count drain holes in the sink’s pit,
deeply breathe in baking dish grime,
taste teeth with bloody, bitten tongue,
hear your body’s glare behind the faucet.
All 5. Okay. Pause.
There was a time I thought my own
mental, spiritual, and physical shame needed forensics when there was no crime.
They just needed love, breath, and space.
I cannot force you
to change your mind,
but I can offer safety for openness
to having your mind changed.
I know you’re least
likely to give these to yourself.
And perhaps can’t. Yet.
So, perhaps if I believe enough—
in your innate longing to experience and
express emotion—
it just might terminate your
cruel perpetuation
of violence.
Perhaps when I’m finished cleaning your dishes,
I can sculpt space for you if you’ll excavate yourself,
Because now I see the difference between 1. the wicked lines
that have drawn the shell you believe to be you,
2. the connected chords of our cores, and
3. where to draw any forgiving line between us.
Breathe the words in. What do they make you feel or think? How did they connect with your senses? What colours or symbols did you notice? What meaning did you draw? Metaphors? Interpretations? Clarity? Messages?
