I was dragged back into the world
Filled to the brim with pollen
And every time I opened my mouth
Pollen drifted out in a floating stream

Walk past the wildflowers
Clinging to rusted railings
Looking out onto crumbling tarmac and car exhaust
Streets must be censored
They are overflowing with houses brimful to sky
With dysfunctional people
My suitcase grumbles at the dirt I am wheeling it over
Week by week these repeated journeys are wearing it thin

sky has been imagining slow swirling star patterns
mazing from cloud to cloud, star touching star
dreaming delicate points, faces like lace
floating through white soft silence

the screaming trees

I have only realised now how much
harder a woman has to fight for certainty
of her place
she may build her fine towers with intricate skill
but she has still to tackle
the man-made wall ahead of her

how her voice may be muted
so swift and with practiced efficiency
I was convinced by the messages sent
in the 90s of a new time arriving
separating away from what had gone before
where a woman could Be
what she is in her genuine form

without shame
without trickery
without bindings
without lines given to her to be spoken
as though they were her own

but I understand there are still
the same hindrances
being woven into the minds
of women at the stage of their forming

the same booby traps and banana peels
that were given to me and my generation
a tricky set of foolish beliefs
of what is
and what is not allowed

to go to a favoured man
to tell him what she has done
only to be dashed
at the base
questioning what she had to be so proud of