Sunday, 10 August 2014

Huh! It seems to be true that poetry sorts out your soul - 19 years ago this night

Sorting out my soul

I'm embarrassed to be admitting this, after somehow forgetting to just try out what we are being asked to experiment with on the Iowa course. My reward is to be able to read and comment on others' experiments.

It took another horrible chest pain to get me to do this, and a visit to the doctor. He didn't tell me to do anything, just listened when I said I knew it was a warning shot from the deep to sort out some things. He asked whether I'd wait for it to happen again before I acted. Do my notes say "Sarah likes to pretend all is ok"?

19 years ago

T was born on 2nd August 1995, there was a bit of a thunder storm that night over Oxford as I looked out of the windows at the Radcliffe. Many hours later he was born, in the afternoon. It really does split my life in two, before and after the first birth. I think the moment of moving from one life to the next was the moment he was given to me and I felt him in my arms, hot and wet against the skin of my belly. Nothing compares. Even then we didn't know he was a he, all that umbilical cord, I couldn't see and needed to look into his dark blue eyes again. It is so, so physical.

From drafts. This was from last week.

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