A Meadow – Kristiana Reed

You are standing in a meadow,

it is lush green,

the kind people talk about

from the other side.

Life swells in pockets;

a city of daisies,

a bumblebee filling it’s knees,

tall tulips swaying in the breeze,

a buried village in the undergrowth

ants, woodlice and centipedes.

Sunshine weighs heavy

on your back,

on your shoulders,

your eyes water

and you cannot understand

what has brought you here;

to the edge of life in colour,

swimming in jewelled flowers,

the taste of pollen on your lips,

petals embracing the sun

the smell of hope –

poisonous joy.

 

You could step forward,

bare foot, unguarded

risking your soul for a chance

to choose the flowers

you adorn your home with.

 

Behind you is a forest,

shadowy fingers lingering

about your waist

stretching toward your throat,

to regain a firm hold

on your senses and pull

you into the shade.

Life thrives here too, but unseen;

amber eyes becoming accustomed

to the night sky,

families burrow in the roots of great oaks,

hedgehogs find homes in autumn debris,

birds call and mate in the trees,

in the dust of your footsteps.

When you began, it was a stroll,

an amble into the unknown.

It grew dark with heavy boughs

as heavy as your chest,

threatening to end all light,

snuff out the life

under your collarbone.

 

At times you walked through clearings

and on the trees you saw her face,

theirs and mine

but never yours.

 

Now you’re here, still standing

in a meadow

wondering what brought you

to this quiet place.

In the blue sky

there is the reflection of a man

beckoning you forward.

He is kind,

he dreams in orange and purple,

he believes in love,

he has led you here

past our faces embedded in bark

to see yours, for once,

in the blinding sun.

 

Kristiana Reed day dreams, people watches in coffee shops, teaches English and writes. She is a curator on Blood into Ink, a collective member of The Whisper and the Roar and blogs at My Screaming Twenties. She is 24 and is enjoying the journey which is finding her voice.

Author: Aurora Phoenix

I write as Aurora Phoenix. Nine months ago my world shattered. Unexpectedly and dramatically arrested, I have been incarcerated ever since, as I await the unbearably slow machinations of the system. Devoid of verbal communication that is unmonitored, pen and paper have served as my truest outlet for grief, fear and angst. Armed with toilet paper for intermittently copious tears, my motions experience and reflections are PaperMate poured. In this chapter of my life, I write.

47 thoughts on “A Meadow – Kristiana Reed”

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