She found the house

She found the house

Where she used to live,

Before the closed ward

And elctro-convulsive therapy.

She blagged her way into

The garden where

She had planted a Flowering Cherry

It was such a display

Pink blossoms every May.

She couldn’t believe

It was gone

The garden, paved over

Looking like a parade ground

For marching bands

And ballistic missiles.

Tightly knit soldiers

With square shoulders

Saluting fat old duffers

Sitting closely together

In a temporary stand

Babushkas arm in arm

With slabs of raw meat

Pooling blood

In the corner.

Where she had built a fish pond.

Although not there

She could still see it,

Hear the sound of fish jumping

Frogs croaking

And oh, the glorious sound

Of a songbird

Until the world collapsed

Around her.

Reality was such a downer

She shouldn’t have gone

But she was always chasing

Moonbeams

Walking through life

On the bright side,

As the innocent do.

Even as they were swept up

By street cleaners

Making surgical strikes,

And she was taken to task

For insinuating

The integrity of incarceration,

Impugning the validity

Of gaolers.

And exposing the

Futility of philistines

Lacking empathy

But having a gift

For stifling creative thinking

And disappearing

Difference.