Firsts

 

School stole you from me
It stole us.

And a World that existed

to only us

has died.

Like all of time.

We no longer ride the seasons.
Or watch the sun travel
Across our valley
one day at a time.

Through the kitchen window
You’ll see only me now,
packing your little blue bag
and
Trying to sneak in bits of love
Wherever I can,
In words.
Or A wet kiss that’s wiped
From a bigger cheek
With a gloved hand,
Before I hand you over
To the railings.
And I’m alone again
In the crowd

Left to wonder
If you will ever look back.

 

 

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The bug

We are woken by the screams.

We run in two’s. Bare feet pounding

Over floor boards.

Pictures flashing

In our minds,

Of all the worsts.

We kick aside the remnants of last night

Crumpled towels and toy cars

Littered at our feet

Hands scrambling

like snakes, for the lights.

 

The smell hits us first

And we feel our breakfast, lunch, and dinner

Reappearing together.

But it’s got him first.

He’s standing up

Damp browed and wide eyed

Surrounded by his sickly creation.

In awe, at what his little body

Has produced.

 

And then come the words.

The shouts and the orders

And the questions

And the cries

And the struggle

of moving and handling and undressing

and washing away

and the cries.

And the cries

And the cries.

 

And together

We place him to bed

clean clothed and powdered

armed with tubs and tea towels

we never knew we had,

awaiting the next strike.

His little snores breaking through the silence.

In the night.

The Flicker of a Picture

We hold each other with our eyes. Him hanging over me as I lay back on the foam bed. The gel painting my skin cold while the nurse smiles.

Then we all turn together and face the screen.

In a moment, we become three.

His hand slips over mine. Our fingers lace, connecting us through bone. The nurse pushes down hard. Our shape comes to life in waves of white, no bigger than a whisker.

Twelve weeks and two days the nurse says.

And he turns his head from the screen. His hand trembles in mine

It’s not your fault I say

You didn’t choose this disease

She wipes the gel with a tissue that feels rough and I pull my top down to my waist.

No need to book another scan I say

And she prints me off a picture

That I know I can’t keep.

Creating

We sculpted your face

With whispers

Under covered duvets,

Wet cheeked with love

Dreaming of the day

You would be made.

Eyes peeked 

Through strands of damp hair

Bursting with love

And We knew Then,

That we were born 

to create.

wild tears

 

 

Tonight you held my head

when it was wet

with wild tears.

and you bathed the scars

and the wounds

fresh

with the blood of the night.

you took my screams

and my sadness

and the fear,

and you wrapped it up tight.

and you said

‘it’s going to be alright’.

and that was just enough.

 

 

A night out

First, I peel away my old self

Leaving it slumped

in a pile on the floor.

And on goes my new skin

Snug as a sleeve

I get waxed and painted

Changing faces

For the night.

 

Then come the butterflies

Free in the nights air

Searching for the happy nectar

My poison of choice.

 

Then it’s bravery

Shoe splitting silliness,

On a restaurant table,

Wild and bewitched

Dancing to myself.

 

Then it’s the slump

The melt to the floor

Full up and plump

With drink

That threatens to burst my skin.

 

Then it’s the shame

The walk, the fear.

The sobering up.

It’s the headache and the passing out

It’s forgetting

And replaying.

And regretting.

And doing it all over again.

 

Knowing

Do you remember that night?

In our first house

When I lay,

Sprawled out across our bed

Limbs opened up from sleep

Like uncurled snail shells 

I, softer and younger then

Wearing nothing

But the reflection of the moon

And you, next to me 

Painted in shadows

From patterns in the light shade

You looking tired and happy

 took your hand in mine

And we decided on forever