Lists are what keep me whole
all year round. A jar full of happiness,
chalk board of errands and  
phone notes, reminding me I need bleach.

In 2022, what will I keep?
What gets discarded, what shall I burn?
No, actually let’s stick with discard.
I’ve always been afraid of fire;
I’m a water sign.

Keep:
Humour, for sanity
A helping hand, good karma
Animals and plenty of them
Mum, my arch and armour
Hope
Tea
Books in the bath
The friends who ask me how I am when I’ve forgotten to ask myself.

Discard:
Quite possibly, everything else.

Or, realistically, maybe
the lies. Just the ones about
my feelings.

Like the moon
a phone cannot capture you.
You’ve never been one to pose
or say ‘cheese’
so I can only hope
that grin
that spark
stays printed in my mind
forever
in the absence of a frame.

In the kitchen
of the top floor flat
I’m ignoring the dread
and preparing a sandwich

There’s garlic mayonnaise spread thick
from each seeded crust
tessellated lettuce
buttoned jalepenos.
It’s the ‘ham’ that confuses people-
you can’t tell that it’s quorn from within.

I cut it into squares,
my triangles were never neat enough.
Tomorrow as I crunch and bloat
I’ll be thinking of how to break the news
word the resignation
and sign it cursive sarcasm.

From now on,
no confused and
overbearing voice
will ask me-
‘I thought you were vegetarian?’

Reasons to stay alive:
a thousand splendid suns,
the land of decoration
beloved
fairy tales.

Dark places murmur
Girl, interrupted.
We are all completely beside ourselves
And still I rise.

Remember it’s temporary
embrace the beauty
find the fabulous.

The first time you spoke, I got straight in the bath to
hide in its lucid duvet.
Your clarity was too much for me,
why could I never be so level-headed?

From then, I was in awe of you
so wise
so humble,
my little girl.

You loved coming to the woods
to collect pine cones with me.
I wanted to create a new oxygen system
of dreams and opportunities.
You liked to help me pick them up,
study the bumps with your gummy tongue.

Your mouth full of earth,
jewels I couldn’t see
you said: ‘I think you’re the most beautiful Mummy in the world.’

My face shined,
your tail danced.
I rewarded you with belly rubs.

I collect pebbles on the beach and form a heart
to honour you.
I don’t know who we would be in years to come,
but there are some things I’m sure of:
we’d read stories together, not just before bed
but at any time we chose. We’d get muddy in the woods
and hunt treasure; leaves, conkers, and all the other
magical things the world saves for little people.
Your artwork would adorn every surface.

I walk through the park and smile in the rain,
picturing your wellies plunge
into small pools of sky. I
Sometimes, when I’m sad I remember you’re soaring
and everyone down here is only temporary.
Grief bloats my tummy in place of your growth,
and I’m homesick for a life I never had.  

You would have been so loved, if I’d known you were there.