Letter

I tried so many times 

That in the end I did not leave a letter

What was there to say

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry

Except it was not my fault 

I was the one who made the choice

But I knew the people who pushed me 

Who led me me to that dark place

Some no more than whispers, ghosts

Others alive

I looked back at the medical notes

Trying to understand 

I made copies

Day after day it was scrawled 

No visitors

No calls 

I had served my purpose 

A story, a person forgotten

Now what I did has also receded 

But it creeps up on me in nightmares

Not being able to breathe

The panic of waking up again

To soon, too soon, I would cry 

Running away, down the path I just had to re-tread

Nobody knows how close I got 

How if I’d left it five minutes later

The letter would be a treasure

Not something I binned as soon as I got home 

I remember one kind paramedic asking why 

I shook my head, I did not know 

The others just cut off my clothes and handed me over

Somebody else’s problem to solve

Except they never solved me

I solved myself - the only way perhaps

It is a heavy history to bear 

And I would like to remember brighter letters

But before these words was trouble, darkness

No Alice but a perpetual underground 

I have fought my way out of

Step by step 

If I were to write another letter 

I would write one to myself

And I would say sorry 

But this time I would mean it

I would be sorry for myself

Because I am the only one it hurt. 

The Book Of The Dead

Ring the bells and open the shiny box of apples

We have an announcement to make 

We are pleased to be celebrating life 

In our book of the dead

It is full of pictures and words

Not bones and bodies

Stories in Latin and wonderful invitations of kindness

Strangers willing us to live our best life

And that we do now

At first their message was quiet and timid 

Now it sings and soars and we understand the things

We have to do, like a thunder cloud on the horizon

That you know will burst with rain 

It as if our memories have been restored 

And polished, just like those apples

Instead of fear inside us 

There is a constant steady pulse 

A signal that all is well 

At first it didn’t fit but now we are used to its beating 

Like finding our place within our bones

Reforming our body over a solid skeleton 

We are pleased we are lucid 

That we remember our days 

That we can write them down 

The symptoms have not completely disappeared of course

Recovery is a slow and fragile ladder

But we revel in the outside air

And the inner library we have created 

Searching for words and feelings that best describe us

Content, at peace, healing 

Dancing tenderly like ghosts on all Hallows Eve 

We giggle, how wonderful it has become 

To be alive, to record our progress

And make our wishes

In our wonderful book of the dead. 

For Shay’s Word Garden 

Bittersweet October

October can be bittersweet

As you walk over fallen leaves

They crunch like broken bones

Or chipped teeth underfoot

But if you try very hard

The crispy leaves can turn into shiny pennies

And you can gather them up and keep them safe

Or buy yourself a treat

She claps her hands 

We open the window 

Let the cool air wash over our skin

We awoke from a bad dream 

But we can now explain why

And not let it linger

Like the autumn downfall

We can sweep the thoughts 

And feelings away 

Rake them into a big pile 

We can run and dive into 

Free as birds 

Make our own leaf angel 

Another kind soul to watch over us

Perhaps we will even laugh with the simple pleasure

Of falling onto something soft 

For leaves become soft once piled in a mound 

We watch the stars at night and the milky moon 

We hope there will be the silence

A change of season can bring 

Space to think about time passed

And time that is yet to come 

We look forward to the oranges and browns

October will bring 

The lit lanterns and decorated windows 

The happiness of children collecting sweets

We are glad that they can play too 

And so October will come 

And we will gather up every day 

Hold it tight until November 

Glad that we are on solid ground 

And walking through those pennies. 

Magical Nature

We walk under trees and a soft peach sun

We look up, see the berries on the branches

And the tiny birds fluttering about

How wonderful it is

To lift our head up and see the world

Time hasn’t changed many things

Only careless hands

We smell the breeze

It is sweet and crisp

We wrap up warm and let our feet guide us

In the early morning light

It feels good - to move and connect to the earth with our toes

We smell lavender on bushes outside houses

And see gardens neat and trimmed

Or wild and daring

In the distance there are the hills

We always look over our shoulder 

To see them 

Maybe one day we will walk over them

Or go to the beach and paddle in the sea

There is so much out there

It is a pity we didn’t realise before

We also like the worlds of books

Disappearing into magical scenes

Hearing about other landscapes 

And characters

That help us drift away and dream 

We read by the window so we have both outside and in 

It is good, to have reached this place of connection

With the world

To feel alive and a part of it 

Everyday we nudge at the borders a little more

See how much further we can go

The world, the nature we have

Is magical and we scoop it up in our hands

Bright as fireflies or fallen stars 

And we bathe in that light

Let it radiate through our soul. 

Tomb Sweeping

I remember the times when I was arrested

Walking in the rain with empty bags

Not falling into any category they prescribed 

I never understood why my hands were restrained

When I had done nothing wrong 

I used to overhear them talking about me, laughing 

The fake kindnesses of sickly sweet nurses

Who then put me into a bed

Clothes and shoes

Pulled the covers up

Closed the curtains 

Forgot me 

I probably should have cried

That they would have understood 

But I was too confused

Too sick to give them what they needed to see

I used to have photos, of all the wounds

But in an instinctual moment I threw them away

I do not need pictures

What I did is with me, on me, all the time

Strangely now I do not see it as failure

It is everything I have survived 

Part of my superpowers 

The brand of a survivor, an endurer 

The pink lines and thick scars 

All part of how I experimented with life, and death 

Now perhaps I feel lighter

Full of light, no longer steps away from a funeral 

If there would even be such a thing 

The fresh scent of flowers and crisp rain on an autumn day 

Awaken me, make me want to live 

I am no longer tomb sweeping 

I am walking with purpose

With pride of what can be done 

With bones and dust 

How you can create a body and mind from 

Fragments of a soul 

I no longer feel angry about the cuffs and the rough handling

It is their loss, if they had been kind they would have seen 

The real me, the one hidden underneath

And all being said and done 

She is trying to be kind herself 

And to herself 

Wipe away the dust and pay back those who never doubted 

That one day I would recover. 

For Shay's Word Garden 

Soothe

We lie in bed in our new cotton pyjamas

Green and pink check 

What soothes you whispers Alice

In the pre-dawn light

Lots of things Little Cricket

Lying wrapped up with you by my side

Listening to the wind kissing the window 

The leaves falling to the ground

The birds slowly rising into day 

The heavy blanket embracing us

Pink and reassuring 

Hot tea on a cold day

Sweet treats like chocolate and vanilla

Walking to the beat in our head

Smiling at people who pass us by

The kindness of strangers 

The twist of the key in our front door

When we get back home

Safe and sound

The smell of toast and the sweet butter

Passing over our lips 

She giggles with delight 

Most of all the biggest comfort

Is still being able to write my words

To let them fall from head to page

To not be afraid of speaking my thoughts

To play with them 

To experiment and tinker

Sometimes for the best

Sometimes not

That sounds most delightful she declares

And we sink back into the pillows

Close our eyes and think how lucky it is

That we have learnt and left our minds open 

To the gift of self-soothing. 

Samson

Samson got out of bed 

Ate a slice of Wonder bread

She giggles 

I like that song

You cut your hair off just like him

And got my powers back

I think and reply

Too many years hiding behind 

Fringes and stray wisps

It is funny

How your hair defines you

I am sure that when I ran 

The description issued was

Short, medium build, long hair 

Now it would be the same except short hair

But I no longer have to run

Now that is wonderful 

We both think and then declare

We let out a sigh of relief

Of freedom and opportunity

I like seeing the locks fall to the floor 

The kind girl sweeps them up

The hairdresser smiles

Just like people smile at me now

When I walk down the street

Or sip coffee in a coffee shop 

It is as if I have revealed a part of myself

I thought was dead

But the essence of me was always in there

It helped me survive 

Now perhaps it is more visible

I am not ashamed of my face

It is my story 

There is no need to hide behind it 

To occupy it without reason 

I took those scissors in the morning light 

And cut the hair off his head

And then Samson was stuck 

But we Alice

You with your growing hair 

Blonde and beautiful 

And me with my short hair

Short and strong 

Will walk with our heads up

No longer victims of the bad people 

Who formed us.