Playground duty, for my sins.

I catch you clawing at soil, your small
fingers tasting the earth.

You hand me a stone
you found in the muck
and tell me to keep it
because it’s special

it will keep me safe.

I can’t remember the last time I received such a thoughtful gift.

I have always stared longingly at it
on wide open mornings
or endless Sundays, even after a hellish shift
or post-apocalyptic nap

Soaking in that pink and brooding scope
caring or warning,
forever hopeful of what’s to come
reassured that nothing before this really mattered.

When the moon is full, tortilla-round and brazen
I think of you
and the way you also loved
to stare at the sky.

There was this cat-
before I was exclusively a dog person.
He lived in the house next to my Nan’s,
and she said he only ever came into her garden
when I was there-
he sensed me.

I used an old hairbrush
to caress his fur and I
pushed him up and down the warm
concrete in my purple pram.
‘August 1994’ is written on the
back of the clearest photograph of us.

My dungarees are bold
and brazen roses-
his patterns are tangible through
my chubby little hands
both of us have pride on our small faces.
I wish I remembered him.

I am always here
the little girl smiled down
from the oak wardrobe
in his soft silhouette house.
Now pull the covers tighter

The parks are ours
No matter what the signs say
Though the crunch of the woodland
calls from far away
calls us to hunt, to gallop on through
fields, mud and marshes
double-sniff around of favourite lake too.
We pad the tarmac
plod the concrete
whether the sky is day-pink or dusk-black
we will walk together
and sometimes you’ll chat aloud to me
I’ll take in each warm word
even as I feel the oosh of the sea.

I’m a dalmatian in the park this morning
leaping with a grace I can feel

a toddler by midday, splashing
unashamedly into gleeful puddles
red wellies into small pools of sky

a bird by the afternoon
giving the impression I may take flight
as I perch wise on the wall and
stretch my feathers
watching you

a fish by the time the evening is here
paper-light and shining
pretending I am not gasping for air
but I’m gasping
because I know night is coming

And the pretence
Should really be over in time for bed.

I am the light between the naked branches.
You stare out at me for answers
but this is only a slow morning
not a requited prayer
You see the birds, benevolent
and we smile at their freedom.

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.

Remember summer?
They let us touch each other,
each moment mattered
skin simmered, we stroked freedom.
When autumn arrived, they laughed.

Flutter, flurry, fall
Flip my road a winter globe
Paint bare trees pretty.

But I won’t be cartwheeling,
I’d only fall on my ****.

Work? Still permitted.
If you’re still employed, that is.
Your windows are grey?
Just paint another rainbow.
Clap again if you fancy

Hello Tier thirteen
Keep your cages nice and clean
Purse your lips and nod.

I pop open the blister pack and poke the pill through,
dip it in sugar to mimic an advent calendar.
The doors are endless, a childhood dream.

I can’t get used to the lightness of despair.
I’ve mastered depression- damp, bell-heavy,
but despair?
It’s almost ethereal. Fairy lights in the breeze,
a brief twinkle
the wink of a tealight before it concludes.

The children hand me treasures they’ve found in the mud
Forest School, or playing outside as it used to be called,
before everything needed branding.
I smile, another leaf for my hair
more stones for my pocket. Anchors in open water.  
‘Are you okay, Miss?’

I sink into mauve bubbles, not trying to drown
only grounding my weight again.
Lilac shimmers the water and I trickle it over me,
smearing life across sallow skin.
My Rudolph earrings hang florid
tinsel etches my scalp. It’s the Nativity today
and my beaming face will echo that of the angels.
Happy.

Your aura consumes,
solar bright
red as birth.
I could give you the sky and still
you’d shrug off the clouds.
Your words puncture me,
pins through wet paper
salted scars needing ice cream.
Broken crystals, faded rocks splinter to
rubble in my pockets for open water
dragging me closer to you.

On the day I came to,
you stabbed me with ice
and shamed me for bleeding,
staining your bathtub black.
I grew back my colours in time,
doused myself in dandelions
whenever I felt you near and
gathered my shells
as you turned to shingle.
You planted flowers
and hoped I’d catch their scent in the breeze.
Forget me nots.






Jade Wright

On the day my Dad
Smashed in every window  
of Nan and Grandads house,
They told me the blood spots were
from the strawberry plants.

As Nan tiptoed by the pools of glass
Auntie Janet took me across the road.
We had orange club biscuits and milky tea, and Jasper the cat and Tots TV.
I pictured my Dad with his arm hanging off and sunk deeper into the armchair.

It was all smiles the next time he came,
The park with the maze and the video shop, and a banana milkshake and chomp bars before dinner.
He caught me staring at the purple scars and took my hand in his, swift as a vice.
There was a terrible accident at the factory.


Jade Wright

We could learn a lot from dogs.  
Not the kind of things that make up a curriculum-
nothing that could be graded, or pass an exam, but useful things.
How to be happy for no reason, how to love without diffidence.
How to grab life and squeeze out all the best bits,
of whatever scrap you’ve been flung.



Jade Wright

Dedicated to Sophie Smith

I wonder if
you played here as a child?
Did you
hunt for treasure shells
write your name in shingle
snake seaweed around sand kingdoms.
Did you ever throw stones into the ocean
and watch the ripples as they spread?

Maybe
you’d tested yourself before.
Feet sunk into the shoreline,
sea foaming at your ankles
as you made your final choice.
Panic or calm,
fear or resolve.
Nothingness.

I bet  
the water had never
seemed so dark.
I hope you numbed quickly
limbs silent
nerves dull
lips salt-fresh and longing
for the end.


Jade Wright

Nursery Haikus  

A selection of poems inspired by children I worked with throughout my time as a Nursery Practitioner.



Circle Time

If I had one wish
I would become the person
that you see me as


Theo

Happiest outside
Stomping stars, building, making
creating your world.


Norah

Come back and see me
In your bright new uniform
and tell your stories

Pre-School Huxley  

I remember when
Our mornings always began
With tears, then stories.


Baby Huxley

Tutu in my lap,                                                                                                                                                                sequins in your pockets shine                                                                                                                                         but we shine brighter

Eadie

You take my hand like
I belong to you, and for
The next term I do.




Rudi  

Your contagious smile
Made my darkest days brighter;
light reflected back.

Lily

I watch you make art
and remember how it feels
to see true beauty.


Maya


Strong as your namesake
excited by the world and
the people in it.


Esme


The world is waiting
for you to come and change it
like you changed mine.


Pearl  

The moon and stars are
waiting for you to take aim
and echo through you.


Cataleya

If only you knew
The power of your laughter
My little treasure.






Career goals

Glorified Nanny?
Early Years Practitioner?
They love me the same.  





Jade Wright