REFUGE

Sometimes refuge is

a simple wooden bed frame with cardboard over slats

or a mould infested mattress complete with biting ants

.

it could be a 5ft one with mosquitoes at my feet

or a sweat stained sofa with a thin and damp sheet

.

one time an asbestos rooftop with a cushion pair

on another it was a neat divan with a touch of princess flair

.

sometimes it’s a musty rug littered with dust mites and fleas

or a hot box room with a fan caked in grease

.

once a rat gnawed mattress with old cat piss stains

another time a comfy bed but next to sewage drains

.

sometimes it’s a clean, new pillow to hold tightly to

but deep inside a drug den, where fields of cannabis grew

.

Sometimes refuge is

a single bed in a room with paint peeling

or a doorway where I’m kneeling

.

it can be a room with a broken door

or just a dirty towel laid down for sleeping on the floor

.

or a dusty, leaky basement,

where even the rats don’t want a placement

.

sometimes a lumpy palliasse with insects crawling

or a bed next to a deafening rooster calling

.

Or small bed with someone else’s child

yawning

anywhere to lay your head before the next day is dawning

.

Refuge can be

in a hug from a stranger

who protects you from danger

or in a hot meal, filled with fire and flavour

.

it can be inside your deepest breath

that sigh of relief when you are finally allowed to rest

.

perhaps it’s the balm of gentle breeze

as muscles relax and stress can ease

.

or being held in water’s embrace

with the evening sun on your face

.

or watching the hawks fly up high

from a mountain top in the sky

.

or a person holding space for you to talk

maybe it’s a warm shower after a long walk

.

refuge can be when you just know

the spirits have your back and you trust life’s flow