Watching Him: a drabble

Watching him is like watching clouds in a blue sky. I never seem to be able to tear my gaze away. He has a hundred different expressions.

These days I mostly see worry, scrutiny. I am a mystery, a problem to solve, a puzzle to work out.

I watch emotions flit across his face like a thousand precious butterflies searching for nectar, for the sweetness life has to offer.

He is so serious now, until I touch him and he stops and his brown eyes soften and a shy smile moves over his face.

This is how he loves me.

19 May 2018

Tiny Atomic Explosions of Love: chemo poetry

There are days
when the sickness
is so great
I think
it cannot
be borne

And yet it is

one breath
at a time
one doggie
at a time

And when
the face
in the mirror
shows how
my body
is ravaged
with sickness
and disease

and I break
into sobs
that shake
the very
essence of me

He is there
never far
to hold me
until I can let go
and hold
onto myself

I think
that must be
what love is

Knowing when
to hold on tight
and when to let go

It is
a sickness
that can’t
be borne
but it is

and small
acts of love
and mercy


In His Kiss

We live
with sadness
with love
with softness
with hope
with resilience
with vulnerability
with gentle beginnings
with forever breaths

I can taste
all of this
in his kiss

1 April 2018
Sussex Coast, England


How They Love

Bodies that sway
by time

She leans
to him

for the moment

he has not
been there

She can’t remember
taking a breath
without the beat
of his heart
next to hers

She tucks
her head
into his neck

His arm
her small

is how
they face the world
weather the tides

is how
they love


I married a man

I married a man
sixteen years ago


One day I left him

He let me go
and waited
and rescued me
over and over again

I’m dying
or fighting death
with more death

And I wonder
about Love
and constancy
and patient

I told a few people
who remember me
that sometimes
I think the true healers
are those
who can hold our hand
in silence

I’m tired
I’m tired a lot now

But there is a man
who never lets go
of my hand

And there’s a kind of
magic in that




Another Word for Love

They say
that cancer
of the breast
is a path

you walk

The truth is
will ever
be the same

ever is

It would be easy
to look at it
as just another
to be solved
but there is
no solution

There is

It keeps you alive
a little longer

It isn’t a cure

there is no cure
for death

The truth is
we are always
walking towards

Cancer is
a not very silent
reminding us
the end of our path
is near

And so
all those things
we put off

Healthy foods,
exercise for the body,
solace for the mind
becomes a need
not a choice

And then
there are days
like today

Where I sit
on my old
beat up sofa
looking out
the window
at a gray English
winter day
with a bright red amaryllis
blooming her heart out

While my mind
catalogs memories
happy ones
forgotten ones
curious ones

but no sad ones
no angry resentful ones

They haven’t
been invited
to this party

With the pain
my mind tumbles
in slow motion

I remember
the smell
of a vegetarian quiche
and the smile
on my little boy’s face
and the feeling of pride
in my fatigued heart

and love

I remember love

This path
of the woman
with half a breast
is always moving
in the direction
of love

There is fear
and pain
and isolation
but always
the mind and heart
join forces
turning my face
in the direction
of love

This cancer of the breast
is just another word
for love.




Seasons or Is That What Love Is?


Today I find myself wondering
Do we change with the seasons?
When we don all those extra layers
do we wrap layers around our hearts?

Today I rushed outside at the sight of the sun
Forgetting my coat, my gloves, my scarf.
For a moment I paused, almost turned
But instead found myself shivering
Watching a squirrel scamper down a tree
While a tiny bird chattered it’s good morning to me
And I couldn’t bear to miss any of it.

Is that what love is?
Being willing to shiver a bit…
All for the sake of not missing any of it?