What are you afraid of, my darling?
For there is nothing so big
as the ocean at night.
© Being Women Today 2017 ebook
Ellipses II [revised]
Sometimes I think about having a baby.
Other times I think about what that would mean (et cetera)
for my current identity; about my responsibilities
to the tiny bright human I’d claim for my own.
We forget that when we experience heartache,
every part of our bodies feels heavy and sore,
a moving collection of rock remains and leftover bramble knots.
I put on my wool-lined rain boots, lacquered in their winter mud,
and go out, again, to look for more answers before dinner.
The trees wear tall, prickly green hats on their heads: nightcaps
I stare at the straight line of their guard until my eyes go numb, from refusing to blink
Plastic chairs, a charred can of something, and the campfire where talk becomes loose
“You’ll make a good wife someday”
Oh, so you think everything I’m doing is leading towards the end-goal of marriage?
The trees grow a bit taller in their silence, standing sentry
I thought they were on my side.
Unequal division of labour: I can’t do the dishes without getting my shirt wet
Like warm baked bread made on gusty summer mornings
I prefer to eat the rules rather than live by them
I feel a vastness of days when you’re not here as well
Each evening arriving, already flattened by someone else’s rolling pin
This feeling belongs on an island, tucked away
in the changeover space between tomorrow and today.
Ellipses VI: Island
On call, the midwife sleeps whenever she gets the chance
Jupiter spins slowly, everyone contributing to the purpose of the house
Her partner happily makes the meals and cuts her pieces of store-bought cake
Often times he sketches the bay through the window; she is content to sit by his side
Dogs lie on the floor with rough paws and resting eyes, hushed magistrates
Little black rabbits with red eyes in the peripheral, taken as good omens
When visiting with relatives after many months have winked by,
they find it nearly impossible to keep quiet company, glasses filled with froth
Ellipses VII: Gruffalo Tribute
I’m sorry, pretty bluebird, said the little grey mouse.
The small creature then set to working building a stockpile
of fallen forest seeds and sticks, in the hopes that the bird
would fly by a second time, this time wanting to talk.
And then the Gruffalo showed up. And the mouse had,
by that time, outsmarted them all.
Inspired by The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler
Ellipses VIII: Wisps
The winter outside my window sugarcoats the evergreens, a dream
that appears like a small snowy kitten, padding quietly into my room
on cold winter mornings. Her paws are the icy whisper of snowflakes
piling up against the sides of houses on rich residential streets.
I keep notes from all the boys and girls I like in a box under my bed.
I’ve been told to pray for a heart as white as snow, although
I’m not sure what this is supposed to mean. I still can’t wear white
because I can’t keep it clean.
School was canceled once, because of the winter outside my window.