My poems usually try to be humourous in some way, but when the world isn’t a pleasant place to be, it’s hard to find any fun within.
I wrote this poem in pieces as I watched on redundantly while my daughter was hospitalised throughout Christmas, and I saw it all through a window and my phone.
At times, this life is manageable, but every now and then I’m reminded how much I loathe what I’ve become and how isolated I feel when I desperately need someone to talk to, or even better, to be the Mum I’d planned.
Here is the mish mash that came out of my head over about 4 days
**********
The Worried Parent
The window cleaner
made our glass
so crystal clear
it hurts my heart.
The normal view
of lawns and flowers
is now just you
and winter showers.
I watch you leave
with fear so great
‘Cause I’m not there
I’m a Mum I hate.
Lights go dim
as the car goes by.
The floodgates open,
I start to cry.
My deafening silence
worse than ever.
As I start to panic,
I start to tremor.
What’s the problem?
Why you? Why now?
How do I fix this?
Who can I tell?
The darkness grows,
I dim the lights,
I’m breathless now,
fear hard to fight.
No one to call.
Only hours to wait.
So I choose to pray
for a good update
Who am I now?
Where did I go?
The plans I made
melted like snow
No right, no left.
No up, no down.
No words to say.
Just an aching frown.
The pain I feel
could not be greater.
My worst nightmare.
A heart-based crater.
Through floods of tears
I see some light
My phone pings loud
I clear my sight
‘We’ve just been seen,
She’s being brave.’
‘What do they think?’
Answers I crave.
Three weeks later,
we still don’t know,
why your pain returns,
and time goes slow.
Although we’re still
within the worry,
I’m so damn glad
you’re home with Mummy
I wait until
darkness returns.
The lights are out.
My heart, it burns.
By day I’m still
Mum filled with glee,
but at night I wallow
in emotional debris
No one lets you know,
when you start to try,
that parenting a child
is just as low as high.
You’re everything I live for,
every breath I take’s for you,
but secretly I wish I could
wrap you tight in cotton wool.
**********
I realise the last rhyme is weak at best, but the meaning was essential.
Parenting is incredibly rewarding and positive, but it can also be a nightmare of stress and worry. At times I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
Thanks for reading. 💜
Creative Steph 