An ode to kindness

An ode to kindness

24 stanzas in sapphic form

Blooming before you are the roses, guarded

but proud. Sharing the vase, there are lilies.

Lilies grieve with you; their sickening sweetness

stains an empty home.

These twelve stems, tied loosely with hessian, found

their way to you by the will of a woman

overseas. She is finding her feet. Thinking

of you, reads a note.

Unknowingly, she has gifted you hope. For

all the nights given over to mourning,

a gesture so simple rewinds the tape. Look

back in company.

You day-trip down south, skim stones in the ocean

and watch the best boys spin in the air. Loose change

is lost to the fair; pennies are won back by

chance in the arcade.

While you wait on the pier, salt water dances

beneath your feet. You scribble instructions on

old receipts. Words take their places, waiting for

the curtains to part.

Share. Share all your love, share your time, share stories.

Share food in a family-run cafe,

listen to the laughter of maracas as

new loves meet the old.

You carry excitement home to the city,

leaving fragments behind familiar doors,

lose your souvenir grin with scattered goodbyes.

Leave your love behind.

Shadows cast by street lamps have you checking twice

over each shoulder. Childish fear; grown-up world.

People you cry with understand. People you

never meet do, too.

You crush lavender buds as confetti to

cast over your pillow. You brew somnolence

potions from fennel and chamomile flowers.

You wed those long nights.

Another week finds you breaking, solitary,

longing for authenticity and to be

vulnerable in the safety of an embrace.

You experiment.

Break open a pomegranate, let it bleed

the truth from its ruby seeds. Spill honesty

over the kitchen counter. Let them see that

you mean what you say.

Stepping stones carry you over a stream, you

envy the open water. Linking arms, you

follow an estuary on foot. The murky

mirrors hide secrets.

Listen to people who were never prepared.

Listen to their uncertain words as they speak

in cliches, and respond with your well-rehearsed

reassurances.

Magpies show themselves in pairs again. Your luck

changes. Still, you are forging filial love

with symbols of a dark past. The wet warmth of

shame clings to your skin.

You paint by numbers with your weak hand, craving

guidance. An exercise in control. Release

the angriest colours first; the soothing blues

will follow. Good job.

You call out in your sleep, stir from unrest and

listen to an answerphone message at four

a.m. Next time, someone will answer. Next time,

they will pick you up.

A visitor carries sprinkles and icing

over the threshold to decorate home-baked,

sugar-dusted shapes. Cookie-cutter caring.

Pretend you’re alright.

Feed each other. Allow friendship to warm you.

Accept offerings of carrot cake, brownies,

rocky road, gingerbread. Allow your sister

to mother you more.

Evenings are shared that blend into dreams, merge with

dawns, swaddle you in the light of new mornings.

A single bed is used as a double. There

is comfort within.

A distant relative reminds you: there is

potential laid down somewhere. Somewhere, hidden

in a safe place, it is waiting, forgotten.

Pick it up for luck.

Count each small kindness that finds its way to you.

Nurture your own belief in these soft fictions.

Cradle yourself in the liminal hours, trapped

between night and day.

When you learn love is gestured, you will rest well.

Yarrow flowers are pressed into silver clay:

a pendant to represent an embrace. Wait

for the link to close.

Trace the outline of hope in a half-smile. Let

someone else colour within the lines this time.

Take a break. Take a good, long break. Take a week

to rest in the West.

Through thistle and heather, over cliffs and down

into the resting cove where you shelter, hear

the autumn sighs of the tired earth. Whispering,

kindness finds her way.