POEM.

They held my hand as I counted,
A gentle care for my past trauma.
And as the numbness swept down,
Up rushed a rising nausea.

POEM.

One for the c-section mamas this caesarean awareness month.

There’s a mark, red and angry,
Stretched tight across my skin.
And as the weeks and months go by,
It fades to paper thin.

POEM.

A poem I wrote to the older woman who sat with me when my youngest was in hospital earlier this year.

It’s a special kind of love mum’s have
The older woman watching on said.
And I thought, I hope to be her one day,
When grey hairs crown my head.

MUSING.

This isn’t one of those motherhood poems…

I want to write those motherhood poems,
That everybody loves.
The ones that speak of tough days and stained shirts,
But a love like no other.

POEM.

Mama you are Enough,
just the way you are.
To your babies you’re everything -
their universe and rising star.

POEM.

We’re new to this, both me and you.
We’ve only just met but I know it’s true.
That the love I have for you is like no other,
you’re my entire world, my heart, my mother.

MUSINGS.

I went from the midst of spring’s creative abundance and was thrown into the depths of winter. Summer and Autumn skipped in a flash as a small body, moving too fast on fawn legs, fell too hard.

MUSINGS.

Drop off today was hard.

MUSINGS.

I hope to pass this on to my children.

POEM.

I took this photo twelve months ago. I can see the tiredness etched under my eyes and there’s a tug in my mind remembering how tired I felt too.

POEM

I dreamt of jacaranda trees, Purple flowers littering the floor. The smell of Spring lingered in the air, And your silhouette in the door.

MUSINGS.

We actually made it to midnight last night.

MUSINGS.

A year of transitions. Of breaking when I thought I was already as broken as I could be. Of cracking apart only to watch what grows up between the spaces this creates. Of tending to this fragility, this hope, this life.

MUSING.

We’re speeding towards 2023 and I don’t feel like I’ve fully processed 2022 yet.

POEM.

A process of becoming,
Of breaking the mold of who you are.
Once one free spirt flying,
Now a vessel for a speck of star.

POEM.

In my phone there is a list
Of all the little projects I’d like to do.
Photo books, and re-potting plants,
Making puzzles, and re-organising cupboards too.

POEM

First feeds with milky soft head nuzzling in.
And a small hand curled tight around my thumb.
Bellies touching, the joy of skin to skin.
Perfect first dance and two once more as one.

POEM.

You’ve lost track of the time
And you’ve lost count of the days.
Your eyes are tired, body sore,
I promise it won’t always be this way.

MUSINGS.

I can’t do this. I wept it. A guttural sob as tears streamed down my face.

POEM.

“I need a break,” I said to no one,
My frustration boiling out.
Another block beneath my foot,
The baby pulling my hair with a shout.