Thank you
for cooking me dinner,
for sending me home with lunch for tomorrow.
For showing your love
that way.

Thank you
for the unfailing positivity;
positive reinforcement
of all of my progress —
my determined, honest progress,
in its mottled glory.

Thank you for the listening ear,
warm arms, big heart.
For takeout runs and chocolate.
For showing love and care
in all the ways.

So, we signed on the line,
undid ourselves
a little more.

Each page autographed
in the matching spaces
we don’t share anymore.

The burst of sadness
came unexpectedly,
I’d been expecting this day after all.

Of course it makes sense
to grieve history’s dust
and that we succumbed to the fall.

When you saw me
in the whole of my world,
as mother, daughter,
I felt deeply vulnerable.

When I became a mother,
a role that I cherish,
my husband got me mixed up with his own,
never touched,
emotionally vacated.

The thing is -
I’m also a woman.
A live, vibrant, loving woman.
A tactile, ready to laugh,
always trying, independent, woman.
And you see me.
What a relief.

You’re connecting with my children
oh what a lovely sight.
Laughing together,
holding hands,
cooking, being.
It both warms and breaks
my heart.

Warm for the care and instant rapport;
the light in your eyes - you’re in love again.
Sad that they’re hungry for it;
clamouring for it;
and that it didn’t happen
in the family unit.

Is there more to lose
or more to win
now that the feelings
are deepening?

New insecurity
negates surety.
Must take time to find
that light in me.

If my heart is an *****
that can be comparmentalised,
then the part for my children
is vibrant, lush, pulsing with life.

The part for adult love
was cracked, parched, a desert
that felt deserted,
and stumbled to its limit.

It feels like that part
is slowly rehydrating
but there’s such a lot to refill.

Why is it that
your happiness
seems inversely proportional
to mine?

Why is it that
your happiness
seems, perversely, disproportional
to mine?

But when we were together,
your lack of happiness
consumed all of mine.

Little steps at life,
in the right direction.
Thinking about big pictures,
thinking further than this day.

Little steps at living,
joy in smallest corners.
Opening up my vista,
broad horizon to explore.

I could run away
from the words you might say.
Triggering me into flight
if they’re not phrased
quite right.

Here’s my trauma
bubbling up.
Here’s this new instinct —
now that we’re close up.

I see my fear
and vulnerability.
I also see strength here
keeping life steady.

So the next step
is to talk it through with you.
Listen to both sides
see what good that can do.

Listen to instinct
and listen to truth
Listen to heart song
rather than be aloof.

Little baby on a hill,
beautiful and so new still.
What will you be when you grow up?
This world’s your oyster,
this life’s your oyster.
Oh wait - it is for me too :)

My tears leak out today
The girls are they okay?
Beautiful little eyes and souls
Oh-my-loves I tried for you.
I try for you.

Behind the scenes,
you’ll know when you’re bigger
This dad of your dreams?
He’s new and designer.
He tries for you..
now.

Intuition,
what’s it for?
Pay attention,
it needs more.

Happy non-anniversary to you.
I marked it emotionally
but I forgot what the day was.
I marked it by
processing, tracking my progress;
taking a very rare breath to reflect.
I recognised the barriers still left,
looked at ways to overcome them.
You meant so much once,
and now I forget.
Happy non-anniversary
to me.

I couldn't live in that
suffocating, silent marriage
for so long,
without being damaged.
It's the wall that I bang up against
the wall of blankness, absent feeling.
I have days of wonder and beauty
but then
the feeling of sadness creeps in to stay.
How do I overcome, rise above it?
How do I stay over the wall,
instead of living in its shadow?
How can I connect and be alive
real, living, positive?
I want to keep seeing the sunshine
and I long for that.
What work do I need to do
to stay where it's warm?
24 May 21.

Spinning, all of the things.
Parental almost-separation, co-habitation.
Salvation?
Siblings and psychiatric hospitals.
Long, warm embraces with you.
Financial disentangling from him.
Baking, trampolines, mandarines
with my little loves.
Weekends snatched with you
tangled in sheets,
tangled in deep
conversation.
And an understanding -
that I'm reeling--
overload of feeling.

How deep is this love,
how mature will it become?
Will it flash in the pan,
decisions made rashly,
lives upended?
Or will it burn,
stoked by the twin flames
of friendship and desire?
I’m pulled slowly,
bitten nails clawing,
into the feelings of
buoyancy, trust,
positivity, possibility.
Are my nails clean enough?

You are unearthing me—
all the nooks and crannies,
all the things that make me, me.
And you are very clear —
you like what you see.

You’re paying homage to me
with your touch along my curves and edges.
With your golden, intense eyes.
With your kiss, your adoration.

This paid homage stirs me,
shakes out hidden grief,
reopens closed space,
unlocks dammed love.
Starts a new journey of ‘we’.

You’re paying homage to me,
aiming to reach me.
Intentionally, joyfully,
breaking down my
solitary
reality.

You trawled through my history;
internet of images,
the smiling moments.
‘You seemed happy
[was it really that bad?]’
Oh yes I was.
Excruciatingly happy,
painstakingly happy,
rejectedly happy.
Smile! To cover the
loss, hurt, bewilderment.
Smile! To hold on, try,
we’re meant to be ok.
Smile! Cover that
loneliness, confusion,
that truly broken heart.

You are optimistic,
cautionless—
enthusiasm personified.
I am circumspect,
tentative—
still healing inside.
You wanted no drama,
sounded good to me.
Then we met and you declared yourself
there by the sea.
I worry I’m damaged,
emotions impaired.
I seem to need time
before I get there.
What if I hurt you
by letting things grow?
I’m wanting to learn you,
that’s when I feel that I’ll know.
I love your smile
your focus on both of us
the words that you whisper—
you want to be in love.
Your touch is so skilled,
it’s a revelation.
I want this to unfold,
but no need to hasten.
There are things that scare me—
your restless history,
financial rebuilding,
for some reason the loss
of that second kidney.
We like talking for hours
connect effortlessly.
Your care, commonalities,
joy, sensuality—
they make sense, they catch me.
I feel like you match me.

What are these feelings?
Wait, let me write them down in a poem,
mull it over,
find that exact word.
Then I’ll know.

Welling emotion
a rising up.
Am I rushing myself
Pushing myself
Moulding myself
Pleasing yourself
Losing myself.

This exploring life—
modern woman.
Not judging myself—
modern woman.
Embracing desires—
modern woman.
Without censoring eyes—
modern woman.
Did ‘right’ for so long—
modern woman.
Lost my internal song—
modern woman.
Now I explore the new—
modern woman.
Emotionally confused—
modern woman.
Work this phase through—
modern woman.

You are optimistic,
cautionless—
enthusiasm personified.
I am circumspect,
tentative—
still healing inside.
You wanted no drama,
sounded good to me.
Then we met and you declared yourself
there by the sea.
I worry I’m damaged,
emotions impaired.
I seem to need time
before I get there.
What if I hurt you
by letting things grow?
I’m wanting to learn you,
that’s when I feel that I’ll know.
I love your smile
your focus on both of us
the words that you whisper—
you want to be in love.
Your touch is so skilled,
it’s a revelation.
I want this to unfold,
but no need to hasten.
There are things that scare me—
your restless history,
financial rebuilding,
for some reason the loss
of that second kidney.
We like talking for hours
connect effortlessly.
Your care, commonalities,
joy, sensuality—
they make sense, they catch me.
I feel like you match me.

Riverbank and sushi,
balmy air and sun.
Birdlife and people watching
with you, new one.
Conversation unstopping
sharing this and that,
winning smiles and glances.
You want no caveat.
You’re seeking smiles,
you’re seeking truth,
you’re seeking commonality.
With me. Let’s see.

I rang, all business,
no feeling in my voice.
I could hear you,
guessing, trying to understand.
But I wasn’t there this time —
emotional wall up.
Your actions aren’t with me.
I wonder how long my wall
will stay up this time.

At heart
I’m scared of feeling
always apart.
Do we all feel this?
Does real,
tingly, deep love exist?
I am grateful,
enjoy so much.
But what does it feel like,
that soul-deep touch?
Not the marriage’s silent,
walled anger.
When I lived with an almost-stranger.
I have people here, with me,
but often feel separate,
bedrock of uncertainty.
Are my efforts fleeting,
or a self-fulfilling prophecy?
I remember, I am lucky,
because I do love me.
Truly, really, certainly.

Grateful for the quiet,
grateful for the peace.
Grateful for the friends
that care for me.
Grateful that he’s fading
away for me again.
I’m needing to stay here
I’m needing to mend.

If your love is
an emotional barometer
then others need to measure.
The New was kind and clever;
but he didn’t bring
the right weather.

Take a step into the sunshine,
lean into the light.
Walk where the air is fine,
battle to stay where’s right.
Each heart-true step will take you
on your journey, this you know—
believe in this and trust that you’ll
get where you need to go.

Love all the people on your path,
on your journey there.
They will often show you grace
as you act with truth and care.

This feels like a stupid test
My heart cannot rest
I’m doing what is best
but, oh God,
feeling—distressed.

Recognising
Emotions
Brought
Out.
Unfinished
Not
Done.

You’re reading my poetry,
the inside of my mind,
written when the emotions crest and
I have to get them out.

You’re reading my poetry.
It does not hide a thing.
The rawness and soreness
the ups and the downs
the confusion, the spirals.

Why did I tell you where to find me,
here in this sea of anonymity?

It’s probably not a good idea
to fill a hole
with a distraction, but
sometimes a distraction
is better than loud thoughts.

You are back
in my thoughts and my heart.
Like a tenacious ivy vine
with importunate tendrils.
I’d thought I had put the feelings to rest—
you’re not mine—
but here you are again
in the memories, the thoughts,
the everything.

Something’s been dislodged
by a happy day.
My words again feel
free to float.
The playing with new friends
brought understanding,
and warmth
to melt that ice
in my throat.

I see myself,
going the wrong way.
I’m watching in slow motion
and I don’t stop it,
even though I know I should.
The emotional impact,
like a slow-burn of my heart,
has started engulfing me.
STOP going there.
But I keep doing it.

You’re pushing on buttons
that I didn’t even know I had.
Some of them, very sore.
Now I have to look at them
and work out whether I should
turn them off,
leave them pressed,
or remove them completely.

There’s this grief
simmering underneath.
Steady and ignorable,
or - boiling and unmistakable.
There’s no going back
but the grief is there.
Tangled grief for two -
husband lost long ago,
and a love that brought me to life.
Grief for my innocent self
that slammed up hard against his
mental illness —
and lost.
I know
the actions I take now
will frame life going forward.
It’s just that, sometimes,
relief from the grief
is so tempting.

My weakness
can be what draws people to me.
So kind, so caring.
The thing is —
nobody wants me to be kind
in spite of myself.
It hurts more for them
if I compromise, smile,
rather than just
ripping the plaster off.

There was silence there,
papered over with effort.
I think you have a
person-sized hole
in your life
to fill.
I have a person-sized wound
to overcome.
It won’t be overcome
by a silence,
papered over with effort.

The day of
warm caresses,
hiking, company, coffee.
And —
memories,
memories,
memories.

And you—
The New.
Seem patient,
attentive.
Genuine.
Me?
Glad to be
seen as me.
Questions, talk
company.
Click your story
into place for me please.
Sketch out the pieces.
I want to see you.

My (ex) mother in law says
She loves me,
she won’t say any more but
worries I’ll miss her boy
one day in the future.
I was his pride and joy.

My mother says
maybe the women of the past
tried harder.
Is there anything to rescue,
women must try harder than men.

I haven’t worried about missing him;
until now.
The relief has felt so liberating.
Relief from that pressure
to carry it all, do it all,
with a smile, without love.
A smile, a gesture, care my way
would have been fuel for a year,
but the silence felt suffocating.

I’d rather love myself
than smile and pretend that I’m loved
by the husband in my bed.
For our kids, for me, I’m better alone.

Now, though,
that worm in my ear.
Will I regret this more next year?
More than the grief of this family broken?

I cannot see that I will.
Joy is breaking through;
but —
What do I do with this worm?