Tag Archives: grief

i can feel a weight in my stomach

there is a rock in my stomach.
i can feels its weight,
but i can’t feel its edges
so perhaps it is not a rock,
rather a heavy growth stuck to the inside of the chamber –
not unlike the one she had.
this feeling would not show up on any scans;
does not leave my belly distended like hers was;
could not be biopsied
or attacked with chemotherapy agents.

they say that time eases its gravity.
i will wait and see

Image by skyli216 from Pixabay


a question

How has this been going on every day of my life?
How has the world kept turning,
how have people kept going,
when all over the place every day every minute
there are people losing their mothers?

You knew it was going to hurt, because
everyone says loss hurts,
but it’s a different hurt to any other, with a new language to learn before you can even begin to put words to understanding it –
so completely foreign and new.

I walk through the world with fresh eyes,
even more astonished that life has kept teeming across this rock
all the days I have been alive.

I had just finished writing this when my mum’s bedroom door came open. I’d been in her room and must have not shut the door properly and the open window must have blown it. But I felt like it was my mum saying hi to me. Hi, Mum!