Cecilia Morris
The Past Talks Back
At 19 my first husband gifted me a brothel visit
to learn how to please a man.
My mind was thin wire.
did what I was told.
He picked me up next morning,
handed me a bottle of champagne.
I was directed to overnight injections of LSD
hospital experiments.
I did what I was told.
The psychiatrist lay me on a couch,
injected me with valium, had his way.
Told me to leave by the rear door
as his silver cloud Rolls Royce
waited at the front entrance.
did what I was told.
I remained 19 years in a respected middle class family.
Had two children and a garden that unearthed me.
I was told to leave the family home.
My final year lecturer knew how to love.
Who fathered me as I had been fatherless
Dealt with 10 years of flashbacks.
He gifted me with deep understanding,
thought my husband was a psychopath.
Salt granulations dissipated.
When he died I lost context.
Had trouble being vertical.
Not for one moment uninteresting.
mind brilliant, his kindness a bowl.
Named us Learner and Loewe.
I was the performer he was the writer.
Can’t perform grief in words nor gestures.
Love doesn’t die.
He lives forever in me.
