16000
I am hidden
Masking my truth behind water I carry in emotion
Wells to my nephew
Womb child missing far away
Near to my spirit
In my beating youthful heart
Working close to the just be
Clothes that I wore, music I listened to
Pretending I didn’t see guns or hear earth on early come sun hidden dusk graves
Light of angel of the north
Flaps metal wings effortlessly
Over the small home where I carried child alone, walking 8 miles to fetch our nourishment
Danced and played Lions with the sofa turned on head
Sung him gently to sleep
Listened as he woke at 4am kicking humming talking wandering the streets of Newcastle in the ghetto of course
Looking for his father, Spirit child
I’m removed
In their eyes
I wish to tattoo my wrist with St Christopher Patron Saint of Travel, my sons namesake and Cool Breeze
Look back via my third eye and fly.
