I take your hand as we prepare to cross the road. You sigh into the safety of me, and I grip tighter to tell you that I love you. I kiss your forehead as you sleep and as you breathe in, breathe out, your face free from pain in loose and dreamy folds I straighten…
When You Are 50
When You Are 50 When you are 50, you are reborn. The same skin, the same face, the same body, but different. You are in the next half, now. You cannot waste a moment. When you are 50, you love this face, this skin you’re in. You love that quick temper, that wild laugh, those…
A Letter to my Daughter
To my daughter, This is your last week of primary school. I couldn’t let it go by without writing to you. It’s what I do to process my thoughts and feelings; to line things up in my mind until they make sense and form some sort of pattern; to express what sometimes cannot be said…
The End
I am thinking today of endings and beginnings, and how we often think we are not ready for either. We are. In the words of A.A. Milne: “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know.” The End The end comes gently, on tiny…
Before You
Once upon a time (actually, ten years ago today) I screamed and swore my way through 24 hours of excruciating labour before a disturbingly cheerful surgeon sliced open my stomach at 3am and pulled out a tiny wailing creature who would prevent me from sleeping/weeing on my own/having any peace/existing as an autonomous adult for…
Love After Love
This poem has always meant a great deal to me. Everyone will have their own interpretation, but for me it speaks of false self and real self; relinquishing the former and finally, joyfully, discovering the latter. Its author, Derek Walcott, was born in Saint Lucia in the West Indies in 1930. He won the Nobel Prize in…
Less really is more
Here is another poem inspired by my daughter. It's amazing how an everyday task can spark a creative impulse. At first I tried to make the poem much longer, and sat for a number of hours trying to come up with more clever and intricate word plays and puns. In the end, I just went with the few,…
Old Love
Love not like the novices do, intently, purposefully. Now that you know the ropes, you can swing on them. Love like over-ripe peaches: too sweet, too juicy, fit to burst. Love like the wild ones who howl at the moon and seek at dawn with satiate ease their beds of oblivion. Love like beasts with your…
Be The One Who Stops
My precious cat Lucy was hit and killed by a car yesterday. I had just let her out of the garage, where she sleeps at night. Uncharacteristically, she ran down our long driveway towards the busy road. People drive far too fast along this road, despite the fact that there are three primary schools in…
Through the claws of the stars
You may have read my earlier post relating the survival story of our little tabby cat Lucy. In case you haven't, it's here. In it, I wrote about our other cat Samantha, who was 17 and in such surprisingly good health that she seemed virtually indestructible. I called her my cockroach cat because I was sure she…
Patricia Bell, Author 