Thursday, October 27, 2005

Nursery, 11:00 p.m.
by Robyn Sarah, from Questions About the Stars

Asleep, the two of you,
daughter and son, in separate cribs,
what does it matter to you
that I stand watching you now,
I, the mother who did not smile all day,
who yelled, Go away, get out, leave me alone
when the soup-pot tipped over on the stove,
the mother who burned the muffins
and hustled bedtime, tight-lipped.
You are far away,
beyond reach of whispered
amends. Yet your calm
breathing seems to forgive,
into the air to mesh
like lace, knitting together
the holes in the dark.
It makes of this dark
one whole covering
to shawl around me.
How warm it is, I think,
how much softer
than my deserving.

Found this morning at Oh, how this speaks to me.


  1. Me too, and I don't even have kids. That was beautiful.

  2. beautiful poem

    don't beat yourself up Alice - you are NOT a bad mum. OK?

  3. lovely. thanks for sharing this- i haven't heard of this poet and i'm keen on finding more of her work now.