Twigs

there was one left on

my front doorstep,

it halved when touched

a large divining one  

bent in the right place

waited for me to pick

it up on Her sacred day

when Her pagan cloak hung  

off her acorn laden curves

crow carrier, pigeon delivery, 

bird man chooses and sings

summoning blessed wings

to lay them down

like twisting roots one day

by my woven cross

dark, long, fingers 

nail varnished in emerald moss

snap in half to spirits breath

damp, silent, on indigo earth

as they shade and soften

the weeping branches of loss.

No Cinderella

Are you sorry for all the chimes you did not hear.
Passing time, faces disappear.
Did the hands of time reverse
as no shoe in your box would fit. 

Rotten wine, she laughed,
broken bottle, one heart halved.
This is the mantra of the last day,
left holding all the words he didn’t say.

There is no midnight ending.
The big hand quivers to ten.
Glass slippers on the feet of 
masked men.

Yvonne Brewer is originally from County Offaly and lives in Cork, Ireland and has had poetry published since 2014 with Women’s Spiritual Poetry. Motherhood has taken her down a very creative path and her writing is greatly influenced by her children, her dreams, nature and fairies. Her first poetry book released in October 2018 is available to buy in paperback or e-book on Amazon. Twigs is a collection of poems based on the simple but extra ordinary mindful moments of everyday life combining motherhood with nature and reflecting spiritual themes that take the reader on a journey to the soul. She is currently working on her second poetry collection “The Story Stones and Wishing Bones” which is a reflection of the sorrow and losses of Ireland’s past. Follow Yvonne’s writing journey on www.yvonnneswords.wordpress.com

Image by Joseph Mischyshyn, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13864112

.22

My father wants to teach me how to shoot

He says it’s a good skill for a young woman to have

Last night, I tried to shotgun a beer

I know that wasn’t what he meant

But I’m so used to using my own body as target practice

It just made sense

Last night, I wanted to be invincible

So, I drank too much

And walked on glass

And said I did not need him

And woke up with bloody knuckles and a dry a mouth

Swollen knees and ripped pants

I pretend to be invincible

But I am afraid of so many things

Of letting people get too close

Of them leaving

And hurting me

Every time I bleed, I laugh

And pretend the pain is not there

The scars and bruises will go away

But knowing you are unwanted by the person you want the most

That is my biggest fear

On Becoming the Church Bag Lady

I wear him on my sleeve

I still feel him

Holding me down

So heavily

Not like a brick

But like a gallon of milk

A fresh bag of groceries

A newborn child

We carry so much weight on our shoulders

We can’t even call the bag ladies bag ladies anymore

Because we’ve all turned into bag ladies

You carry your past on your back

Your future in your hands

And you’re not even sure where to put your present

You lose it so often

It seems less and less important

Eventually it will become part of your past

Like your scars

And his hands

Eventually you will have too many bags to carry

And secrets to keep

And stories to remember

But eventually you will be okay

Stronger

No longer fueled by your hate for him

No longer weighed down

By all that you carry with you

Everyday

Image by Diliff – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=40699786