FENNEL BREEZE

Dreamt I pulled up at a house
in North Springfield
calmly walked through
to the kitchen
drew out and pointed the gun
at my father

For over half my life
you filled me with fear
the fear of being capable
of loving my own mother

Never seen Pa so frightened
Pointed the gun downwards
You don’t need your legs 
do you
hux m’għandekx bżonnhom
huuux

Then I snapped out of it
my own legs trembling

Ok
I’ll admit it
it was a daydream
The gun was the one I saw hidden
in the cupboard under the stairs

A daydream
late evening
my eyes fixed upon a photograph
as a toddler
sitting on my mother’s lap
our backs to Filfla

How deep cobalt that sea
I can feel the late autumn breeze
on my chubby cheeks
u t-tingiż tal-bużbież
the piercing solace of fennel
How my veins miss it
My feet restless
on the base of the chair

This is just outside 
my father’s village
My mother 
a city girl
in enemy territory
The geography of memory
so plain 
so thorny

Must have been around xmas time
a year and a half
No recollection of this moment
as an image
but I do remember the breeze
and I do remember the warmth
oh yes 
I definitely do
u mela
and I no longer
feel guilty
for it

Tried to hold this poem back
It was useless
I just let it flow through
like the froth 
falling down
the face of Filfla


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#wdv