Minotaurs
where the shadows
creep on the flickering walls and the blurred,
grey corners leer.
Twist my head again, see
the glowing of the clock
on the shelf, throbbing with its news
and cruel barbs of malice; forcing me
from the cosy warmness to the frigid floor boards,
blindly grope the stiff blinds
dirty with dustballs, filth, cobwebs,
and the prints of my fingers
in the thick coating of grime…
See a taxi parked, a carriage
in black and white, like a magic coach
on the road it’s pulled to a stop
near the kerb. She is home
at last, with a wave
at the driver,
and her shoes clatter up the stairs. She is
safe. In a place where sentinels, watch
the clock on the shelf.
The knob of thread I offered her at birth
spools back. Like that bundle of string clutched by
Ariadne of Knossos
waiting alone, she
gripped the fraying fibre tight
as she shivered, hearing the roar
of the monster.
I kept her so close
in a spider’s web of the finest silk
netting while the dewdrops glistened
in proud joy. Too much to fear
in the ugliness
that wants her; danger springs
from the unknown plexus of life
where just a move, a slip, a lapse
can raze. How long? How long, til spirit bites,
and breaks free when she severs the cord,
amputates the string for good
and then soars through the air
in ecstatic pursuit
of mystery
and Minotaurs.
I could grasp and strain,
stretch my spider hand. She
was a borrowed treasure, but
it’s time now
to let go.
To my daughter, love Pinky xxx