Hidden blooms
Art by Oormila V. Prahlad
Quivering up—three pronged blooms,
brown earth,
a shadow grave.
brown earth,
a shadow grave.
Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad is a widely published and awarded Indian-Australian artist and poet. She is the current Writer in Residence at Woollahra Libraries. She lives and works on the traditional lands of the Eora Nation.
Instagram: @oormila_paintings
Instagram: @oormila_paintings
Mothered
Poetry by El Johnson
CW: Mental Health
At the moment I’m scared
And sad
Scared and SAD, so very sad.
I want to be wrapped in an eiderdown
with a satin cover so thick it absorbs
all my tears,
curls around me like a peach-coloured snail.
I want my forehead to be stroked
my third eye gently touched
my hands to be rubbed and rubbed so I feel taken care of.
I want to be sung to.
Lullabies, or gentle Turkish folksongs, or a Kurdish dirge
that captures how my heart is breaking and hopeless and longing,
mirrors my pain
So I’m not alone with it, sinking, silent.
I want to be rocked and shushed
Back and forth, back and forth, no end,
no need to speak or ask or say,
just held forever, my weeping and wailing welcomed
like a long-awaited guest who finally made it in the dark.
I want to be fed,
Hot warming stews and soups and cinnamon spice,
Fed with a spoon and told
Not to lift even my finger,
Just to close my eyes and open my mouth
for nourishment and love.
I want my pain to be held.
I want company and soft understanding and comfort.
I want to be told it will all be ok,
That I’m in the right place
Doing so well
No need to change a thing.
Be reassured,
Things will look up,
Days will be brighter.
I want to drink tea with someone.
Told to put my feet up and take five minutes.
For my feet to be covered in rose scented oil
Until I feel warm and sleepy and held.
At the moment I’m scared
And sad
Scared and SAD, so very sad.
I want to be wrapped in an eiderdown
with a satin cover so thick it absorbs
all my tears,
curls around me like a peach-coloured snail.
I want my forehead to be stroked
my third eye gently touched
my hands to be rubbed and rubbed so I feel taken care of.
I want to be sung to.
Lullabies, or gentle Turkish folksongs, or a Kurdish dirge
that captures how my heart is breaking and hopeless and longing,
mirrors my pain
So I’m not alone with it, sinking, silent.
I want to be rocked and shushed
Back and forth, back and forth, no end,
no need to speak or ask or say,
just held forever, my weeping and wailing welcomed
like a long-awaited guest who finally made it in the dark.
I want to be fed,
Hot warming stews and soups and cinnamon spice,
Fed with a spoon and told
Not to lift even my finger,
Just to close my eyes and open my mouth
for nourishment and love.
I want my pain to be held.
I want company and soft understanding and comfort.
I want to be told it will all be ok,
That I’m in the right place
Doing so well
No need to change a thing.
Be reassured,
Things will look up,
Days will be brighter.
I want to drink tea with someone.
Told to put my feet up and take five minutes.
For my feet to be covered in rose scented oil
Until I feel warm and sleepy and held.
El Johnson is a Welsh poet and visual artist based in North Wales. Her work draws on her own lived experience of motherhood, which includes caring, advocating, loss and grief, as well as lots of family adventures, joy and celebration.
Instagram: @the_mama_wave
www.ridingthemamawave.com
Instagram: @the_mama_wave
www.ridingthemamawave.com
