A Poem a Day (252): Small buds

 

Since Thursday, 20 August, I’ve only posted three poems. My mum was taken ill suddenly that night. I was told on Friday 21, and rushed home, knowing it was serious from my dad’s voice. She passed away in hospital on Wednesday, 26. I feel lucky that I was able to see her and she wasn’t alone. I didn’t write anything until the 28^th and it was bleak. 

Some people find creativity pours out when they’re depressed or grieving. For me, everything closes up and anything that does appear is so dark that no one would want to see it. Writing, reading, art, music and nature are things that can give us great comfort when we are suffering. 

I started writing a poem a day on April 1, to last the month of NaPoWriMo, and then I carried it on as a writing exercise to write every day. I often chatted to my mum about writing, amongst so many other things. We talked so much during lockdown. 

Yesterday I went and stood next to the sea. This towering, magnificient thing, a force to be reckoned with, so much bigger than me. Its fantastic beauty brought quiet and peace. I could taste the salt of it and it made me remember some amazing memories of my mum. She’s always going to be here, in my heart.

This is the poem I wrote on August 28.     

     

Small buds

We place a marker for our grief,
a tree spreading out its arms wide
to embrace the widest of worlds
and everything within them,
rooting ourselves in who we are,
who they were and mean to us,
collecting water to evolve
and replenish what has gone,
what we’ve lost and will not find again.
Memories are what we have,
these small buds we will treasure
when we feel alone
in this widest of worlds,
all those days without words.
There is a bird watching me
and she’s flying.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 28, 2020