Looking outside through the window

(painting and poem)

barefoot on the grass looking in

memory of a home passed on

gliding through the door again

though the wood still stands

the house is not my own

when I was a child barefoot

on that same grass my dad

and I would have a catch

he would announce it like phil rizzuto

and we were the only people existing

when I look through the window glass again

I see my father reading to me from his history books

I never forgot the lessons of the past

and beg him above to heal the world with God

we grew and got sick in our own ways

from psych wardsfor me to nursing homes for him

adulthood took that security of a social net

instead of couches to surf

I call for beds availible

in an institution

for medication and compliance

all thre while remebering my dads last years on a memory ward

just as terrified with the routine as I am in chaos

when I all I want is sanctuary from the outside

all I need is a home

and a family

to call me safe

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Valerie Moran-Clark

Healing advocate, mad woman writing for survival, witch. Reclaiming the Bardic tradition with poetry and modern folklore. instagram: @valeriemoranclark