Respite in the kitchen

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Yesterday's breakfast lay hard and flat on the plate,

symbol of plenty or waste,

depending on the frame.

Snow drifts on the verge of the road,

the floured discs are thrown to the wind.

Sharp eyes find the offerings,

the frocked, iridescent ecclesiastics

dive to gather the holy rite in their sharp beaks

while Sunday's flock of gulls

circle in their wake.

Missing pieces

I have announced our plan to travel to Japan. It will be the fulfilment of a life long dream for both of my children. It is not a vacation, it is not a trip, it is a journey to find the missing pieces of their identity.

This is not a lark, not a playful decision made by a parent with itchy feet. It is their birthright which has been denied them due to circumstances beyond their control; poverty and family breakdown.

I have long wanted to give my children this gift-- this missing piece-- but was thwarted in my efforts. This year I felt an urgency to act.

We are not rich, as one child at school said when she heard of our up coming journey; according to government standards we are poor. But that is another discussion about why the poor hide their plight rather than be heard, rather than call out the system that does not work, afraid of the stigma that the word and the reality brings.

We have saved for almost a decade to afford this trip to the land which they in part belong. A land they have never seen but yearn to know as it is a part of their DNA and their identity.

This is not a trip. This is who they are and they deserve to know it with their breathe, their eyes, and under their feet.