Today I want to share another old poem. This poem was written when I was pregnant with my first daughter, living with my lover, holding all of my hopes and dreams in my fragile hands, and hoping it was the right path, knowing it was the only path I could have chosen at the time.

Revisiting one’s work from such a distance is always an interesting experience, and it immediately brings me back to memory, to the person I was at that time. Looking back, I wonder what I have learned, how much more I have to learn.

I find in the threads of my early work similar themes at different points in time. The body. Art. Love. Throughout my life, I have wished upon a thousand stars; I have seen my dreams shatter in the blackness of night. And with each new sun, a new hope arises – a chance to grow, to evolve, to change.

I wish I could speak with the girl I was in this poem, maybe even warn her about the future. I want to take away all of the future pain and hurt and loss, and replace it with the sweetness of this wish. I feel her trembling heart, so hopeful, so hopeful.

And I am thankful that I still feel hope. Today I feel such love for the girl I was, knowing how she failed, knowing how she tried. I caress the broken places, whisper songs of healing, and cast my wishes, so close to my heart, to root in the earth, to bloom across the bright and luminous sky.


It has taken me four months
to become a woman; I am
a woman with child,
blooming in the center of me.
When he entered it was through
the thighs of a girl, pretending
she was all grown up.

I watch the way my life is
turning, this life inside me
slowly growing –
at night he rubs my swelling
body, and wraps his arms
around my fears.
We think our love will take us
through this, I don’t know

if I can love him any more
than I do right now.
In our dim apartment, I read
by candlelight and he fills the
space of sound with music.
We look at each other and smile
never thinking we could turn
to each other on a cold winter
day – blaming, resentful.

We wonder if love is enough
and strive in our Art,
hoping if nothing else
his songs will be lullabies
and my poems bedtime stories.
All for our child, our dreams
emerge like dying stars;
we shut our eyes tight and wish
Originally published in The Butterfly Chronicles.


One response to “wish

  • Joshua

    Old poetry is always nice – I wrote quite a few poems a couple of years back, but I was in a situation of emotional instability but through the medium of poetry, it helped.

    I do love the poem you’ve written – it’s very emotional.


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