Tag Archives: nelson

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Emergent

I’m somewhere on the wave of a contraction feeling its energy burst, its necessary need, its primal force.

I’m with my mother in law, her tiny form creating another, her small arms cradling, her small mouth saying ‘he has a heavy head.’ 

And I’m gulping air into my own tiny lungs, fresh into the world, carrying my mother’s chemicals, her genes, her ways, 

on and on and on.

I’m somewhere not far from where I am now, lying  skin to skin. And where my abdomen used to be, lilies bloomed.

I bled therefore I am.

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Pen-Gull

It was that, right hand in pocket, kind of day, that finding a piece of the hill and holding it close, deep, tucked away in fluff, kind of day. And they didn’t know, they stood around her, next to her, powdered and small, her red fleece, a contrast to her mother-in-law’s brown coat and she was younger.

Younger than now and the piece of the hill held its secrets, kept her safe. They laughed and grinned into the bluster as they turned to face him by the car. The shutter froze them as the weather did, her hand to her left ear to keep the gusts out of her head, her longer, thicker hair out of her little elfin face.

The hill in her pocket, with them on either side of her, in front and behind and inside. They were with her then, when time was a thing that worked well and now, in the piece of the hill that sits tucked away with her treasures, in the small blue bag from her wedding day, the red fragments of rock at the bottom and they hold onto her tight, still, silent, unseen like the secret inside her back then and, like the hill in her pocket, the moment remains.

Always.