July 10

A poem for Kallahari

I’ve never known a love like this,
A love that’s bliss, even when clouded by the mist
of remembrances of antipathy that make me
never want to replicate what it took for us to get here.
I grimace and sneer at the uncouth and unbridled emotions
and physical phantoms
that gave birth to the epic fantasia you have helped me create.
Each day is a new page; each month is a new chapter.
Sometimes I am in awe and wonder, and total rapture.
This is something that cannot be harnessed or captured,
or even manufactured;
It is something that not even death can fracture.
Some simple science and biology are not the only factors.
I cannot help but to delineate that the Divine crafted us to be in this
space and time.
You are sublime.
To behold you is to witness perfection.
To touch you is the ultimate in affection.
The pulse of your heartbeat is an inexplicable connection.

You are my daily aphrodisiac.
You make me live.
Good. Better. Best.
You have gifted me with
renewed zest … for life.

I’d always been in love with boys
I thought they be the nucleus of my pain – and joy
But, girl, when I looked into your eyes,
felt you stirring within,
knocking around clumsily and calamitously for more space
so that you could be even closer to me – and see me –
I had an epiphany.
That I could love a girl as equally as a boy,
and probably much more so.
Because you are my girl, my glow,
I am gluttonous in my adoration of you.
For you, I could easily be a fool.

This bond between mother and daughter.
No friend, force, or foe could slaughter.
The link between myself and your father
has given rise to the best lovin’ I’ve ever had.

 

© K. Danielle Edwards

“My patience, resolutions and beliefs are tested to the limits – sometimes daily.”*

Right at this moment one of my challenges is the constant, tuneless whistling from my elder son. When my boys were babies it was getting them to sleep or trying to figure out why they were crying. On any given day now, it might be squabbling, fighting, teasing, screaming, shouting or rudeness. Who’d be a parent? We might well question ourselves after the event, but we can’t very well put them back! Just how we find those inner resources, how we constantly demand more of ourselves, how we keep marching up that hill with a smile on our face and gladness in our heart at the sight of our ‘babies’ is one of life’s mysteries.

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* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007