Mother and Child
Waking too early,
bed too late.
Mind becomes frosty like confused,
a puddle of slippy thoughts.
Dreams come and stay in those hours of sleep, chasing order, rhythm, pattern, dreaming of knitting the
most perfect small square that has ever been made, an image that lives on the back of eyelids.
I am awake, eyes closed.
I don’t know the time.
I can’t move at the moment
it might wake you up.
I can hear you snuffle.
The radio murmurs, too quiet to catch.
Your warmness cupped in my arms,
travels up and down me,
keeping me buzzing with life, and hope and resilience.
Slightly sweaty, slightly cold.
Are you too hot?
I don’t know, I’ve not done this before.
People say listen to your gut
but I don’t know if mine works that way.
I am trying to remember this moment,
Time I devote to you
Time you won’t remember.
I hope so often for you,
I try to stop my mind again from worrying away from you now
For you are my now and I love you.
"The Moon in St Brides" Skomer
The moon is red, the moon is orange, they say.
The sky is pink, the sky is blue, they say.
The moon is chasing us. We both agree.
The moon comes after us, up the dune.
We hide in the spiky grass, find a den.
Just warm sand, we dig our feet in.
It has stopped moving,
It is looking for us.
Stay still, all waiting for each other.
Our breathing and the waves mix.
A tiny shell on their leg.
They notice it and shout out, “Tiny Shell!’
They wake the moon,
The chase begins again.
We move,
It moves.
Snow on Siabod
Feet and knees push,
Zig, zag, plod.
This is hard,
‘Worth it though I’d say’,
"Ask me later," I say.
White peekaboo,
crunch, grapple, stretch.
Sit down at the top.
Just us,
and everything.
This work was commissioned as a collaboration between CELF and Disability Arts Cymru.
