SLIDE OF PREJUDICE
There lives a bias towards beauty, truth, whilst the gutter, where I have left fragments of my
unwanted shame, remains stagnant and unvisited. Yes, I skirt a pathway where your prejudice rubs
up against mine, its hands clench my heart, where I cannot say the season in which we might
hand-fast our differences and set back on the road again, where all can be said in some dream
vessel that angles into freedom, from what is right or wrong.
Maybe I have been waiting,
Hemmed in by a bias of silence
Where I am sown seed by seed
Into that un-named, untouchable
Wordless reward for persistence.
Life creeps like a distant father figure,
Edging the forest boundary
Where my unborn child slumbers.
And I am woman now,
We have been ripped from inside
The cage of rib, lung and skin,
And these branches of the tree,
Freed from the fruits of death,
Are now just waving us on.
The stark imperfection of it all
Unties the knot of chance,
And walk us into what is given;
Grace, grace, grace.