I miss the way you make brews too weak,
Served up with endless biscuits,
I miss the way the room goes quiet,
When we howl with childish laughter,

I miss stealing words,
Between cries of our children,
Time standing still,
As we ramble through weeks again,
I miss lifting each other up,
Plotting schemes for the future,

'Thank goodness for videocalling'
I say it, it's true,
But oh, how...

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Reflections on single-parenthood. 

Last Day at School 

And you are off,

Floating through our front door,

Awash with make-up,

Dripping with love,

Much taller now,

Towering above me

A figure of strength,

 Last day at school

Where are you now?

When you are not with me,

No need for cuddles,

No clinging to my leg,

You won’t remember,

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Lying here comforting my daughter of 9 months beside me, it suddenly occured to me that when she was born I was going to write more, start to share my work, use my time out of work to explore my poetry writing too. You know, all the usual gubbins, before the actual reality of having a newborn who doesn't sleep, has painful reflux and an older, teenage sister or whichever equivalents consume you.

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