“Child hide!” my inner voice would say
As the voices boomed from the kitchen
And I would run as fast as my tiny feet would carry me
Behind the sofa I would hide
But as the noise began to
Ricochet off the walls and the ceiling
Crouched I’d sit
And
Hide my face away
Deep in the blackness
Of my cotton and acrylic cave
I would stay
Until the noise would cease
And they would come and find me
And with remorseful hugs
They would hold me
On those days when my parents needed to talk
I was given refuge with my grandfather
His house was a refuge for people
And for books
Rows of musty smelling
Hard backed books
Treasure Island
Robinson Crusoe
Little women
And book with words that didn’t have chapters
But with words that dance beautifully across the page
Betjeman, Yeats, Woolf and T.S Elliot to name but a few
I listened as he would recite stories of far off lands
And hang on to every word
Of those of verses of love he would recite
I remember his heart danced
But his voice would quiver
I now realise he was thinking of my grandmother
As I grew I would search for those words he read
And lock them away inside my head
So for those times when my thoughts are dark
And those demons come a knocking
I no longer hide behind seated barricades
I no longer hide away in my cotton and acrylic cave
I escape to the land of words
Where demons are not welcome.
©Copyright 2014 by June Bolland
