It's Not Too Late

What an absolute treat it is, hearing from people who are reading Lullaby for Mothers, about what their favourite poem is. 

One that keeps coming up is It's Not Too Late. The poem originated from a list of things I wanted to do. The list has changed, but the sentiment is still the same. I've been surprised at how many of these things are on other people's lists too. 

There are two kinds of poems in Lullaby for Mothers. Part One is poems about moments with my children, but Part Two is poems for the mother, the woman, the person in her own right.

Each of those poems was written a hairs breadth after understanding something new for myself. Each represents some moment where something shifted, life broadened or expanded somehow and a poem wanted to be written while I still had one foot in before, and one in after. 

We move on so quickly in our lives. Our unfolding can be so subtle, the changes almost indiscernible, we forget how far we’ve come. The distance between hopeful and grateful can be a single breath.

MgXjkxCjSty+cQny4lo2uA_thumb_44cd.jpg
 
 
 
 

would you like to read more about Lullaby for Mothers

 
Featured
It's Not Too Late
It's Not Too Late
It's Not Too Late
It's Not Too Late

It’s not too late 
to go to wild places, 
alone, 
and unafraid…

A Book from Me to You
A Book from Me to You

I wasn't planning on doing this but I enjoyed it so much that I feel inspired to ask—would you like to order a book from me directly? 

Compassion, in roses, in life
Compassion, in roses, in life

The experience of post-natal depression has made life now with my children more poignant, more alive, more layered. It has complicated our relationships, and humbled me.

Lullaby for Mothers
Lullaby for Mothers

Lullaby for Mothers started with one quiet moment with my son, a few scrawled notes and a single poem. 

Fever
Fever

It is the air itself
that saves us.
Night’s cool cover, a cloth
on our burning face…

Tend
Tend

I gather fallen limbs,
handle lichened bones
with reverence,
returning them
to the base of their tree.

Rain
Rain

I know you’re tired,
lurching from one exhausted moment
to the next, rushed 
through life
like a cloud 
at the mercy of the wind…

Limbs
Limbs

Sleepless elbows and knees find my hip, 
shin, and the tender bone under my eye, 
my body remembering a knot of child 
kneading my bladder, stealing my breath, 
stamping footprints on my belly…

Staying HomeMary Walkerlullaby for mothers, poemsComment