My world has shrunk
to here and now.
I curl around you;
outsideness is a skin
I hear playground voices rise and fall,
children detached Apollo-like from the Mothership
floating on swings and seesaws,
I curl tighter,
breathe your milkiness,
wrestle with the functionality
that are yours,
alien, twin lunar landscapes,
luminescent at 2am, at 4, at 6 –
charting our voyage,
our ebb and flow,
as I wash on your shore.
I have birthed you
but our labour of separation and survival
has only just begun.
Clare Robson is a mother and works as a teacher. She writes with the Cullerpoets group and attends the Stanza spoken word event in Newcastle each month. Clare lives by the sea with her husband and a collection of animals.
Artist Statement on Crying Tears by Clare Hansford
Chameleon, Zig graphic and Posca pens on paper.
This drawing is a description of the overwhelming love you feel for your baby. A time that feels emotional and surreal. A strange grief for your old life balancing on the brink of immense joy for the new one.