I have always felt that I have an “artistic soul” but never had a way to express myself. I am terrible at drawing, have done a handful of abysmal paintings at social “paint and pour” events (accompanied by wines) and even tried collages with pictures ripped out of the physical copies of National Geographic that I received once per month. Nothing was satisfying. Continue reading
I don’t have much to say, on the eve of my c-section. I heard Quentin yell from his room this morning “ONE MORE DAY!” One more day of kick counts. One more day of injections. One more night of anxiety-related non-sleep. By this time tomorrow, we will already be at the hospital. Continue reading
waiting for a change a step sideways
growth in unwelcome circumstance
nausea swelling dizzy
aching tired frightened
all comes back to chance
circle, hope, fire
When Death came
He was quiet and unassuming
A silent slip from one moment
into the subsequent.
No vigil, no disaster, no fanfare
But a small flicker.
It was a mysterious and unknown intrusion
When Death passed through me
Not next to me
Not beside me
Not in front of me
But through all of my defenses
Stealing a tiny life.
Leaving only a brief fragment
Where a baby should have thrived.
From a tender, inviting womb
To a hard, unfeeling hospital
Death… sent my daughters
Into the cold.
But they never knew.
Only warmth surrounded them
While their hearts were beating.
No energy 2:00 am again cannot calm cannot sleep feeling nauseous worried about stress a bath sounds like too much work I love baths but cannot take one
Best chance for sleep 9pm to midnight then up every hour or two up and down in and out of fitful dreams and discomfort cannot sleep without feeling baby move every time every hour
No punctuation rumination just words around and around I wake with a fright with a start with a fear so bright I can’t breathe
Ache back side arms legs zero right to complain feel guilty
Write or risk losing the words as the clock creeps toward 3:00 am