Bloom

 You didn't let me bloom,

I so, wanted you to.

I wanted you to see,

All the colours of me.

But you kept me at a distance,

No words, to calm and nourish,

My aching soul, waiting,

For the furtile roots of home.

Instead a gaping hole,

Where all the could have beens,

Lie dying,

Like drying leaves.

Waiting for the wind,

To lift them gently,

And carry them,

To a safer space.

Dawn Annette Montague

8 May 2024