#atinylife LastBorn

Given my poetry pamphlet is now sold out (thank you to everyone who bought a copy), I thought I would record the poems for my much-neglected YouTube channel. Here is a transcript of the first one,

Last Born

Quickened pain, surprising me

out of all birth plans

and breathing techniques

and the crickets of the TENS

machine crawling up my back.

I had woken early

completed the lists:

paired socks, as my pelvis

pentangled like pulled knitting.

And all too soon

the burn, the squeeze, the heft

was beyond unbearable

but then

you released –

a tide of meaning

from me

into the world.

My last born.

Completing this compost

of family

this outrage

of us.

Never forget how you came:

child of mine.

Never be afraid to labour, and

never push down pain to places you cannot feel it.

#atinylife the other stuff

In between the published works –

the novel that did OK

a story in that collection put together by MA students,

a poem here, a poem there

the joy of a short-listing

the folder of ‘no longer on submission’ scribblings

there is the ‘other’ stuff.

I couldn’t fit it all into the bookshelf:

hours spent tinkering with broken friends, instead of broken sentences;

days spent with Netflix, instead of cutting, instead of copy-pasting;

weeks spent holding the cat, instead of the pen

piggy-bank empty and smashed. All spent.

the other stuff

Tears leaking from the hot water tank

shredded text messages used for mouse nests

reams of progress stacked, dormant

still in their polythene. Sterile blank pages.

Where is all the work I could have done

if other people had been

kind? accepting? loyal?

had trusted my life had to be lived this way?

 

 

 

 

#atinylife thanksfornothing

Someone suggests an update to some legislation. It’s kind of controversial, from some angles, so they do a consultation. Over 70% of people respond and say ‘yep, sounds good.’

They decide not to update the legislation.

And if it was just this, I would be fine. I mean, it’s paperwork. It’s disappointing, it’s not surprising.

But it’s not only this. It’s the 18 month wait for your kid to be seen by someone who knows less about gender than you do. It’s the four emails a week to school because people are deliberately misgendering your child and then claiming they are entitled to their opinion that there are only two genders. It’s the memories of the times you couldn’t walk down the streets of your own village. It’s watching your child become more and more withdrawn. It’s news like this.

#tinylife Zero Damage

‘I take zero damage from zombies, dungeon slime and cochineal beetles.’

How lovely! I thought. Wouldn’t it be great if you took zero damage from life?

Zero Damage

If we could go through life without hurt feelings or hurt bodies, no diseases or chronic conditions? Never having a heart broken. Not getting that cold that starts as a streaming nose, turns into a throat full of blades and then a chest like a tight sleeve straining to let air through. Never caring about what other people think of you. No coughs that just won’t go away. No aching limbs, no migraines, no scary diagnoses, no chronic pain, no broken bones. No death, no grieving.

Do we have to feel pain to experience love?

So, if anyone’s looking for me, I’ll be in Terraria. (It’s a computer game.) I take zero damage there.

 

#atinylife Fear

Today I have been thinking about … fear.

These are not tinylife fears, they are fears of the bigger picture. Our whole world.fear Fears of biglife.

When people who divide, rather than unite, are given power, I fear. When men are accused of violence against women, and appear to get away with it, I fear. (What are we saying to those considering similar violences?)

When I hear about stickers promoting a Far Right group on the railings my children pass on their way to school, in this tiny village –

I fear.

When it looks like we have forgotten, or don’t seem to care,

about how far we’ve come, about where we’ve been,

I fear.

 

Today I hold my children,

and I try to be brave.

 

Because this fear is likely to deepen, to harden

and may split right open and apart.

#atinylife Refugee

I am watching

the refugee video

on Facebook.

 

It’s a list of the things people took with them.

One nappy, the actor says.

One nappy.

 

And my son calls

from the living room

‘Mum?

Is it

time

to

go

yet?’

 

He is in the living roomfullsizerender-30

of my house.

I am in the kitchen

of my house,

watching the refugee video

on my computer

in my kitchen

of my house.

 

One nappy. Phone, sim card.

Wrap them in a plastic bag,

pay all you have,

get into a boat

 

with your children, and …

 

In my house,

in my kitchen,

my son is going out.

Later, he will come home.

Later, I will lock the door

 

of my house.

 

Fall asleep, in bed.

I’ll be warm. Home.

 

And I’ll vaguely remember

a video

I watched

earlier,

on Facebook.

On my computer.

#atinylife Darkness

Today I have been thinking about…darkness.

I’m not talking about the darkness of winter or the darkness of the depth of the night. Well I am, metaphorically. I know, I know, she kept to the positivity thing for what, two months? Darkness

When you go to bed dreading something. You wake and it’s already happening: you are powerless to stop or even impact it. When your voice on social media merely echoes the voices around you. You all know that decisions have been taken and that they are wrong, but those who represent you don’t give a damn. When those with power refuse to recognise the futility of the full circle, terror mirroring. That’s when it feels like darkness reigns.

It is difficult, at these times, to lift your eyes to glimmers of light.

But we must.

They are there.

#atinylife Eternalhopelist² by Nicola Royan

At the top of my list of eternal hope is a tidy house. I’m not a naturally tidy person, so as a practical hope it is fairly pointless, but interesting as a symbolic one.

Sometimes, I read that hope as symbolic of the failures of a working mother: the inability to lay hands on the most recent bank statement or the vital leotard is proof that I am missing my maternal (and uxorious) Key Performance Indicators. This makes me cross.

At other points, domestic untidiness seems to mirror the complexities of work and the multiplicity of these current academic KPIs, many of which seem out of my reach. That makes me melancholy. Both make me mutinous.eternalhopelist squared

What to do? Reject the completely-internalised cultural hegemonies of domestic space and professional achievement? It would probably be easier to just tidy the house.