The Warm Place

Her breath, warm and vaguely sweet. Her eyes glistening, the tears mingle with her laughter. I am in the circle of her embrace, as we lie entangled in a beautiful red paisley comforter.

The room is dim, quiet except for our soft talk of living, loving and dying. Wiping her tears, we laugh, then she wipes at mine. Outside the bedroom, I hear the birds stirring – on comes the dawn. She calms, lays still and quiet, as I rest my head on her lightly rising and falling breast. She is fragile now, and tired,

The room becomes more womb-like, in the still air. Even the sputzie out in the oak seems to understand this moment in time. This place…

I whisper gently to her, loving her to sleep with an ancient Irish lullaby. Being in the circle of her arms is the only place in this life where I ever felt complete, and able to love completely. I try , in the morning mist, to bring her this same comfort.

Time stands still, as memories flow between us like dew on a spiderweb.

One day soon the web will break, but not in this glowing room she fills with love. This is where I will always be safe with her, forever.

Author: ST Martin

I am an Artist, Poet and Author. A Survivor of Violent Sexual Abuse and Rape, I have lived thru Severe Domestic Violence, Twenty Three years of Addiction and Alcoholism, Family Dysfunction, Chronic Pain, Dependence on Opioids, and 2 Venomous Snake Bites...I have Been Stabbed, Shot at, Tied to a Tree and Choked Unconscious. A Quarter Horse Rolled on Me, as did a Lawn Tractor. I also Wrecked a Harley into a Tree! I also have PTSD and Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder, and spent my 18th birthday in a Locked Psychiatric Ward. I am so much more than this: I feel like a tiny seed that sprouted in a desert, and now has grown into a Passion Vine. My Art is my Voice, Screaming, Crying, Praying, Loving, Laughing, Healing- all in Riotous Color...

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