Three poems
For this brief moment in my life
I’m sharing something a little different today — some poetry about motherhood.
All of these started life either on the pages of my journal or in the notes app on my phone.
Two of these are currently on display at Left Bank in Leeds (until 08 September), as part of the Parents of Small Biz 'Parenthood' exhibition. The first one is not part of that exhibition, but these three together make up a vignette of the past ten months, as my daughter’s condition became apparent and then slowly unfurled into her recent diagnosis — which is also part of the reason for…
…Some housekeeping
Season one of the Mother, Creator podcast is edited and episodes are dropping on here and on Spotify every Thursday through the autumn.
You may (or may not) have noticed a name change. Maybe it’s the creative September energy, maybe it’s the small relief of having a diagnosis (and treatment plan) for my toddler, or maybe it’s just a natural part of my evolution as a writer and a mother.
Whatever it is, I feel pulled towards Substack in this season. It feels like a space for longer-form writing, for experimenting, for building community, for setting gentle goals and for being my whole, intense self.
Cold Coffee embodies the fleetingness of early motherhood, the lingering feeling of always being a little bit behind schedule and the necessity of imperfection as we do the work of mothering alongside the work of creating.
A reader said it's: "full of depth for those who know," and that's how I want this space to feel.
As mentioned, the podcast is dropping every Thursday. I’m also aiming to post original writing twice a month.
I’ve added a paid membership mothership, too! In it, I’m sharing monthly prompts for journalling through motherhood and a space to chat with other creative mothers.
The podcast will always be available for free, but if and when I get ad sponsorship, there will be an ad-free version for paid members, too. Membership costs £4/mo and you can cancel any time, or £40 if you pay for the full year in advance.
Now, on with the poetry!
Chores, undone
Sticky face, damp curls, "please eat," with another cup of milk, a little yogurt, buttered toast. Hot head bumping up against my throat, feet knocking my hips as we sway in the kitchen. You keep growing but somehow stay the perfect size for my arms. Cancelled plans and chores undone. Do you want a blanket? A snuffle, a cough, a push-yourself-up and then a drop-your-heavy-head-with -a-sigh. I know I'll catch it next, and when I'm poorly I'll have to butter my own toast, but I hold you close anyway, breathe in your sticky, sweet, germy breath, give you pink medicine, stroke your forehead, text "I'm sure she's fine," then switch to the other tab to Google your symptoms. I'm glad you won't remember this, glad I can be your home and butter some toast for you to eat, when you feel a little better.
— Chores, undone [See original on Instagram.]
Still part of me
My grandmother's blood still pumps in my veins and sometimes I feel like my daughter is still part of me. A monster made of my own blood and bones torn off and trying hard to walk away. Does my mother feel the same? Her cells will live in my bloodstream for the rest of my life. It's scientific fact: I'm a chimera of us both. Sometimes I'm sure I feel the cells that used to be my daughter's beating just under my skin, pulling my body back to hers.
— Still part of me [First shared as part of the POSBL ‘Parenthood’ exhibition. View on Instagram.]
Let’s get together in the spring
I’m sorry I’ve been absent. Quiet. Not quite myself. And I missed your message. Call. Email. She’s asleep. Perfect. Poorly again. 39.9°. Calpol. Waiting rooms. Just that time of year. I’m sorry I’m late, I was. In a meeting. Making dinner. Running behind. I’ve been trying. Apologies for the delay. The mess. The inconvenience. I caught the cough. The stomach bug. The naptime tiredness. And I forgot. It’s been a lot. Busy season. Another coffee? I’ve got a moment now. I’ll reply when I get chance. Do you mind a voicenote? Can we postpone? Cancel? Move it up to two o’clock? I’m just. distracted. On my way. On a call. After this week. When everyone is well. Let’s get together. In the spring.
— Let’s get together in the spring [See on Instagram, also shared as part of the POSBL exhibition.]