Judy Brumby-Lake

Infectious Rhythms

Infectious rhythms beat

to the cycles of nature

to intertwine

and become one

as they give birth

to other seasons.

© Judy Brumby-Lake

My Little  Brown-Eyed Child

   

I often see a forlorn look in your eyes

and have noticed that a tear has caressed your coat

and then I wonder what troubles you,

        my brown-eyed child.

I may have adopted you 

when you were only six months old

and have tried to compensate you

with love and gentleness to obliterate

the scars from your past

but nothing seemed to evaporate

your perpetual sadness.

A voice inside me wants to scream out,

        “Who are you, my little brown eye?”

I have noticed, when we are out walking,

that instead of you tracking for pooches’ perfume,

your eyes scan the road for human forms.

To me, it is as though you are

looking for someone who once loved you -

someone who held you against their breast.

I have also noticed that when the door bell rings,

your body trembles. 

Then you seek refuge behind a chair.

  Were you, my little precious one,

an over-energised Christmas toy

whose spirit would not, even with punishment, run down? 

Did your mistress/master take a lover

and their need for you was obliterated?

Did  this lover torture you?

Sometimes I think,

my precious little pooch,

that you must feel like

some mail-order child

even though your new owners love you,

and shower you with gifts.

You must be trying to reassemble your past

through a haze of  fragmented images and smells

to get back to your roots.

© Judy Brumby-Lake