This Home Poem by David Fraser

“This home has been far out at sea all night.”- Ted Hughes

Something in the wind-tossed trees
batters open windows near the porch
listens to our words spit
arrows from our mouths,
those dragon-belly words
to splash against the painted peeling walls.
In raging no help in sight
to cuddle in this ragged breath we breathe.
The floor is sticky with the blood of wounds
remembered, made again, the cracking open scars,
the weeping lesions of our love,
knives pointed, little silver fish
slicing up the dark.
I pray, a solitary chant of rocking
back and forth for songs of birds
to bring some light
to send the shadows of our misery away.

David Fraser 2005