This is the time of their lives
when the business of growing up,
of thriving and forging ahead
is straightforward,
blessed
The fear grips
in my mind as I watch them
I see
their future is suddenly
unsure
although I have known that deep within
for some time
An eight year old wouldn’t think much is different
how could she?
She lives in and swims in the amniotic fluid of
childhood innocence;
Now is It and so it should be
and the birthing sac has yet to be ruptured
The elder sister
well,
her world was torn asunder last year,
we worked hard to stitch her wounded future self
back together, so that
her eyes did not always see
darkly
“Climate anxiety” came to roost here
she was beaten
bereft
swallowed by the ground with her sorrow buried deep within
the Earth kept her in darkness
while beautiful, wise, loving human souls
brought her back from the depth of somewhere I could not reach
to somewhere brave
and true
So now, these sisters sit side by side
swinging on a hammock and
eating campfire-cooked tea
and they laugh at the fun
like young kids should
I observe,
thinking grateful thoughts for those who helped
stitch by stitch
to heal my daughter and
I wait
for this next wave,
Coronawave
to rupture the sac.
but not yet
not yet
Nwyfre 