Poetry, Uncategorized

These nights come in

with a clap of cool storm’s drizzled breath

applause of rain

lamps that hold our shadows in;

finally the children sleep.


I comb the house

listen to the pipes whinny

cars shush the tarmac.

Crumbs stick to the soles of my feet

and scratch the floor like a catch in the throat.


He coughs.  It’s nothing. Coughs again.

And then the teeming

choking breath, the ‘I can’t talk, mum.’ husk

‘my mouth won’t breathe.’

I’m by him, rubber seals his mouth

and together we count four breaths.

Then four again

And it is over.


His child’s body splits mine open.

This boy who takes breath

and fills our house with it.

The pillow holds his head, now

touch him gently, sleep


The mo-poke owl

calls all the loneliness away

the house settles further to the ground.


3 thoughts on “Nights

  1. ‘HIs child’s body splits mine open’

    split me open

    Thanks for these poems.

    Sarah St Vincent Welch

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