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I’m about to go on an extended trip to visit family…

and I have a ‘to do before I leave’ list
written in two solid columns,
because that’s less scary than two pages,
so what to do first? Write a poem
about liminal spacesΒ πŸ˜†πŸ˜‚πŸ€£πŸ˜†
That is NOT on the list!
But muse insists…

Liminal spaces are the places
we go when what’s been is behind
and what’s coming isn’t yet in view.
Where no one knows your name,
apart from the one checking tickets
who’s so full of names they don’t care
where your name came from.

It’s freeing to be nameless a while,
from your perch on the edge
of what was and what will be,
browsing unfamiliar faces
who undoubtedly have a name too.
But you leave them be,
let them savour the liminal too.

Because all too soon
the world makes you return,
and you pick up your name
like a coat you left in the cloakroom,
almost surprised to find it still fits
because something’s changed,
and you put it on to face the new place,
where you’re welcome by your name
heard in the voice of one who loves you…Β β€οΈπŸ’•

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