With Dad, in a Garden

Time, Image, Archive: A Gardener’s Daughter’  – Work in progress…

“With Dad, in a Garden. The loud voice of my childhood an umbrella over us. We Pause to study and unfamiliar plant. Now we talk the same language. Eyes, senses aligned. Through the gate we wonder at the exotic specimens, memories intertwined with stems. Birds talk back from above.

I brave a portrait. Dad. Leather jacket in defiance of the mainstream. He talks of oracle cards and the promise of  a new life in france.

I lie on the sloping lawn, hard earth on my back, clutch the grass with both hands. Migraine tilts the world and I fear I will be lost in space and time, dissolving, teeth chattering. I breath into the pain my body filled with the tightness of conformity.

He appears around the neatly clipped hedge holding a skeleton. Flower turned to seed, an exquisite structure of universal wonder and geometric sense. I look into its centre. I see my misguided values reflected in snowflake softness. My triptans disperse the pressure in my head like an explosive seedpod.

Today was special. Together. Separate. Your love and care re-set my clock. I am back at the start, questions laid bare again.”

 

DadBelsayPortrait

 

DadBelsay

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