At first all I did was hurt. Then I was sent here, "a treat," "all expenses paid," a "holiday" to "give time a chance to heal," in a "lovely little B&B" on a hill by a lake. And truly, it is charming. Spring has come with sparkling lights on lakewater, and green everywhere, and all I can think is how much he'd have loved it, and loved me in it. But today, as I found lilacs and then honeysuckle, my favourite scents to sense, and buried my face in them, I could almost hear him wanting me to enjoy them, wanting me to live and breathe; and I gasped and spluttered as tears showered the flowers, and oh I hated to go on; but, undeniably, Spring has come, I still love flowers; I still love flowers.
A Nursery Worker Explains the Stains
That one's sick. Snot, and a bit of shit. Ages two to four. Don't worry, the urine doesn't stain, well not much. It's a bite. Three stitches. Disturbed. Bruises, always. Playground. Blood from scabby knees, and scratches. Sweat and stale milk. Yes, four years at college. No, minimum wage. No, I've none of my own. Oh, a variety of reasons.
Cathy Bryant's poems have been published on four continents and she's won numerous awards. She's also an editor, and last year her own collection was launched. See more at cathybryant.co.uk.