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Out Of Reach
I sit on my mobility scooteron Traeth Gele, watching waves roll infrom Liverpool Bay. The wind finds its rhythm—steady, unseen—turning blades on the horizon,white giantsharvesting what can’t be held. Nature,translated into energy. I sit there,watching,listening, as words come flying out of my mouth—too fast, too many—scattering like spray. I reach for them,try to catch each one,but they slip through— and I can’t hold them all. My words tumble and crashlike waves against the shore. They break on rocks I didn’t choose,scatter into pieces I try to gatherwith hands that don’t always dowhat I ask of them. I collect what I can—fragments, edges, almosts—but the picture never comes togetherthe way people…
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Holding Refrain
I held my tongueboarding the bus,when you took the seatopposite the wheelchair space. Not all disabilities are visible.I am proof of that. I thought about saying something.I didn’t. The bus moved.People scrolled.Nobody looked up. My voice stayed where it was,caught somewhere betweenthought and sound. Do you listen,or just hear noise? I held refrain.The moment passed.Nobody noticed.
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Held
it’s just a thought.One small idea.Barely formed. Something I swallowbecause it’s easierthan explaining again. It sits behind the teeth.Under the tongue.Polite.Contained. I tell myself:“It’s almost time.”That the silence will stop.That waitingdoesn’t cost anything. The world lovesthis version of me.The quiet one.The reasonable one.The one who understandsthe process. So I wait. And while I waitthe voice doesn’t disappear –it presses. It becomes a weight in the chest.Tightness.A currentlooking for a way through. Because a voicecannot be pausedwithout consequence. What happens insteadis that it flows inward.Every unspoken wordadds pressure.Every delayed answerraises the waterline. Still,they don’t hear it. They say I’m calm.They say I’m coping.They saynothing looks wrong. They mistake restraintfor consent. But…
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Llais
Beth yw llais os na chaiff ei glywed?Sibrwd coll, gair a beidiodd.Ei glywed ble? Gartref, ar lwyfan, yn y dorf?Neu unman—yn adleisio’n gorff? Clywn lawer llais o’n hamgylch ni—Rhieni, brodyr, teulu’n cri.Doethineb neiniau, ffrindiau’n rhydd,Ond beth am leisiau sydd â grym? Athrawon, meddygon, a’r heddlu glas—A ydym yn gwrando? Neu’n troi’n mas?A ydym yn gweld eu geiriau’n glir,Neu’n gadael iddynt fynd i’r gwynt yn rhydd? A beth am arweinwyr, uchel eu gradd—Cynghorwyr, gweinidogion, llawn rhagrith a thrach?Siarad am doriadau, cwyno am wlad,Ond a glywant ein lleisiau ni o gwbl erioed? Pryd mae llais yn peidio â bod?Pan fo’n sgript, yn syniad ffôl.Dadleuon gwag, yr un hen stori,Yr un hen sain,…
