Poem from last year

Your fault. Her fault Their's Never his The words start to tangle And he starts to twist Voices begin to scream Objects thrown The dodging game again Guard your tone The fingers point Here comes the flood Voices raise higher Words spilt out like blood They splatter on the ground Glass shatters When will she learn Only his voice matters Liquid stains the floor Seeping through the gaps The broken home tainted, The slow unending collapse. The power is his You beg and plead This charade again His pathetic need The silence after. It's hollow and hard The stains stare back at her; So do the shards. He smiles again. Hand slithers to hers No matter what happened It could always be worse.

Soothing raindrop patterns Look – there must be a million tiny pools Listen – they are pitter-pattering of peace (Are they distorting my vision?) I dreamt of that angel again The one with soulful, engaging eyes… Beautiful eyes filled with hope of passion fulfilled Teared with the memory of past hurt Arms crossed, to shield her tender heart from… ​(Me?) I close my eyes The angel’s arms are open She takes me in her arms to a place The place where picture postcards are born (I believe it is heaven) In heaven she gives me a gift She fills my heart with Christmas swans She crosses her arms again (Those eyes, those mesmerizing eyes…) And I awake To the peaceful pitter-pattering of raindrops… Terry Hamer, Christmas 2000, Nanaimo