Two Poems
Contributed by Andrea Simmons

These poems came directly out of my HFI therapy. They are another way for me to see my process - to understand my psyche - in the same genre as sandtray, animal imagery, dream work and visualization. I have not put much effort into their writing - which is unusual for me. It feels like the source of the poetry is an energy that got freed up in my therapy work.
The first poem, "Childhood", grieves my past and desires healing.The second, "Rain", wonders if I am able to take in the healing (intimacy). What would it be like...What if...

Childhood

The earth I stand upon in grief
The heaven of my soul is blue
When there is no mother all the flowers die
When there is no father all the trees die
All living creatures creep silently
Into themselves
There is no rejoicing

There is a path of tears
That leads behind the house
I wonder what I'll find back there
Besides the old yellow doll
And the broken teacups

Will it step out and greet me
Or will it hang back in the shadows,
Sneaky

There are voices still calling
All-y All-y in free Alls out free

Do you know it hasn't rained for a long time
The grass lies awake at night
Dreaming of the sweetness of rain
Even I am thirsty
My longing resonates like an empty tin drum
I bang on it and pretend it is thunder
Perhaps it will rain soon

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Rain

The rain walks steadily around the house
Looking for something it lost
It stoops now and then to peer under a bush
Then stops to rest in a puddle
The smoke can't rise
On days like this
It wants to come into the house
And be welcomed
Like the family dog
It tries to seep through the cracks
In the wood stove
And pass undetected
Into the corners of the room

Now the rain walks impatiently
Around the house
Looking for a way to get in
Whatever it lost is in the house
It would like nothing better
Than to track its muddy feet
Here and there and up and down
Pouring through books
Scattering pillows and papers
As if they were twigs and leaves
Uprooting the furniture
Flooding the pantry
Unearthing bits of food
And pieces of secrets
It brushes up against the windows
Trying to get our attention

What if we were to let these two brothers in
Smoke and rain
Our home would become a wild place
A forest
Moss would grow upon my back
Butterflies would sleep in your hair
You would be tangled up with
Bittersweet vines and rose pricker bushes
The moon would nest in me
I would rush like a stream
In the springtime
Toads would sit upon you

If we let them in
The night would come prowling
We would come face to face with the dark
It would be wearing unknown rustlings
Its breath would be damp and musty
Like the compost pile
Full of decay
It would sit and look at us
And we would have to look back
Because it would surround us
Sitting in each of the seven directions
All at once
Singing tenderly
Could we bear this intimacy?

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