(for my counsellor)
Bailing buckets of pain
As it fell she remained close
But not the kind of close that pushes away
She works with knots, clots, the caught and stuck
It is a severe gift to help break the jam
For those with insides caked in sludge
Walking around soaked in anguish like clogged drains
Her protection wraps wide around the broken
Who come limping into her room
Some work with wrench and nut, a sickle and a field
Her, ‘how are you?’, begins the unlocking of rusty doors
Piercingly safe with that granite warmth
Hiddenness comes out like babies into the light of day
A witness - to unknown sufferings
To confessions that would crack like glass
To the frayed threads of bitter unions
Things you can’t say to those you love the most
The buried child sits on her couch
Having been quiet for a lifetime
Induced by her presence
Once it starts it doesn’t seem like it will stop
Choking and no longer able to speak
Words come out like blood
Sharp stones of regret passing
She soaks up the red drippings, mopping tears
Hour after hour exposing and cleaning wounds
Everyday people fighting to stay alive
Lives curled around trees like fresh car wrecks
She carries within her the hurts of a 1000 hearts
Lightening the load of the world
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