Sometimes, especially during the long summer holidays, the family cocoon feels more like a pressure cooker.
Anger spikes, flaring like lit fuses
Among unwashed dishes and wet bath towels.
Small detonations echo through the neglected house
Racketing around the uncleaned shower.
Shouting clouds the air
Where faces hang sullen and silent
The eternal expression of the wrongly accused.
I halt in my tirade, your hand on mine
Voice low and soothing as a summer breeze.
And I long to take your arm,
To fly away from the squalor of family life
And find a love nest just big enough for two
Where we can live our lives whole,
Not chopped into a hundred pieces
To suit the whim of this one or that.
Your calm strokes my skin
And coats my ear with honeyed words.
Not run away, you say
Push aside the unimportant tasks
Take up only those that…
View original post 77 more words
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 