She carries, she comforts, she cleans
She feeds and she feeds and she dreams

Just one minute alone for my thoughts,
Just one minute, just me, just a book
Just a warm cup of tea and a soak
Just a face mask, some bubbles, no noise
No wake up call before dawn,
No hands round my ankles.
She yawns

She hears her name called once again.
I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m scared.

She cooks and she cleans and she sighs
She does it with love, but she hides
in the toilet for an extra few breaths.
She breathes out. Back to the mess.

She bakes and she sings and they scream
I’m not eating, you’re ugly, he’s mean
and she fixes, she heals, she blows
kisses on sore heads and toes.

She tucks into bed and she reads.
She’s so tired but she turns off her needs.
She cleans as she worries and checks
into rashes and bruises and what’s best
for their future, that’s so far away.
She juggles but she gets through each day

She drops off, she picks up, she waits.
She does listen, she just sometimes forgets
appointments, rehearsals, sports teams,
school meetings, world book day themes.

They run and they break things,
She screams.
She makes threats she will never mean
She looks in the mirror and sees
new lines she has no time to cream

She wonders
Am I still Me

They play and they laugh and they moan
She feels more love than she’s known
They hug and they fight and they test
She knows of all years, these are best

She cleans and she feeds them. They grow.
And they grow
And they’re grown,
And they’re gone.

Now she cooks and she cleans just for two
She looks forward to those weekends,
So few

She baths and she reads and drinks tea.

She enjoys all her new luxuries.

She remembers, she smiles, she longs

for those short years,

that then felt so long

 

Trish Fitzroy
June 2020