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.

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.

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.

POEM.

My love let me tell you,
How it felt the day we met.
Awkward arms to hold you close,
A bond we hadn’t formed yet.