Freedom of Movement

The suitcase followed in her wake,
like an out-of-sorts child.
Bored by the journey – jabbing
wildly at peoples’ ankles and legs.

The sting of invective followed,
unrecognisable except for one word.

Winter blankness – wintry expressions
with no warmth or empathy.
Bare trees devoid of spring rustling
and universal bird song.

The sting of tears with their
coruscating brightness washed her eyes.

Her wordly goods packed tightly
and with painful precision.
Jostled for space and breath
in their zippered strangle hold.

The sting of loss from family
and friends – lashed her heart.

Freedom of Movement

Then in the fading and diminishing light.
She witnessed the miracle of a setting sun.
Slashes of lipstick colours – like her own.
Red, pink with the background of ochre.

The friendly taxi driver spoke kindly
and delivered her safely to a new home.
A sunset smile echoed her thanks.