Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

Paternoster Part 2 What is my world of pain? Just thinking about it, riding round and round the Paternoster. It is the pain of remembrance. The feelings, the thoughts, the understanding The knowing what I have felt has a word, phrase. Yet not quite having the language to express it. Like Helen Keller with her hand in the water Letters, urgently, in rapid succession written on the other hand. W-A-T-E-R. And through the fog bank of realization comes a reflection of a conception of what it is. Having the experience of that event in my mind, to express the inner narrative, speaking the words out loud, I am not there yet. I have a taxonomy of all the words associated with that emotion Listed in my innerness, Someday soon I will speak the spoken the words out loud, Bring innerness to birth into the outside world. This is the start. Having the letters strung into words and phrases which make up the once secret, Now de-coded language, ...

The Change part 6: In the Fall-Out of Chernobyl, Black is Inapposite She is in her black as usual. Black coat and bag Black bra and knickers and slip Black dress All black, every day. Saying – he is dead and I am sorry The semiotics of the outfit. She is in her black dress at the doctor’s waiting room In the hospital Surrounded by women like her. Some crying silently, anxiously, some dead eyed, exhausted with an IV of nuclear-ness drip, drip, dripping into their bodies. With husbands With women friends With mothers, with daughters. She is alone, and happily so she needs a break from the well intentioned baggage of others. She looks at herself And she says “This narrative has to change”. This event marks a way stone, a departure from the path she thought she was going on. Her agency in this new reality asserts itself and says, “Dump the black, Live. This is your time now. He has had his slice of mourning, ...

The Change part 5: Her Black Heart Beats The time of the black. She hates him for dying, she is so angry he left. She is in a state of flux, ripples of sadness. And dualistically Joy at his departure. She is free at last She can be her own self But how to? Her template was damaged, Flawed, imperfect to start off with. His hurts and disappointments, misadventures and bad behaviour, He wore like a traje de luces , a waistcoat of many lights. It caught the sun in different seasons. And he was exposed time and again. And yet she has no choice. She has to love him To offer him fealty Because he is The Father. The ultimate Authority Male. Her stumbling block. Her fear, the greatest fear, of his disapprobation, his scorn, of being ignored, rejected and forgotten. Her hatred Her disavowal of God in her distress “I don’t like him, I don’t trust him” He causes her misery and rage. And yet she must imperatively Lov...

The Change part 4: In the Fitting Room The breast is changed for sure. The first time. After. She felt she had to explain to Bra fitters in shops, Exactly why she had two cuts On her breast. But did she really have to explain? Or is that part of the recovery? Is she angry? Is she embarrassed or shy? How she feels about herself Has changed. She is looser, more relaxed. Says what she thinks a little more. Explains herself a little less. Gets fired up more easily. “I have lived through this and it will not bring me low” She thinks. She is more certain of what makes her happy, What is important – vital. She knows about pacing and timing. Appreciates energy levels, She doesn’t push it. She knows about rest and healing And the importance of a little exercise. She is the same really. But changed.