Between Bruises & Blooms

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The 4 A.M. Household

Lucifer whispers,“I’ll watch from cover.”Two moonlit eyesbeneath the couch,a quiet shadow learningthat home can be trusted.HoneySpark shouts,“SPEED!”One heartbeat still,the next a streak of fur,chasing ghosts only kittens can see.Myst pauses in the window.“What’s that outside?”Every leaf is a mystery,every breeze deserves watching,the world beyond the glass calling her name.Zelda blinks from her…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

4:20 A.M.

The world is still pretending to sleep,while I sit with the creatureswho never learned the differencebetween night and morning.The kettle hums.The babies sigh in their dreams.A cigarette burns itself shorterbetween tired fingers.Once, there was another ritual.A bowl packed with green prayers.A lighter’s soft click.Smoke curling toward the ceilinglike secrets asking not to be judged.It never fixed…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

Even Sick, the Morning Comes

I don’t have the luxury of calling in sick. The babies still wake. The dogs still wait. The dishes still multiply like they don’t know I’m struggling to breathe. So I make another coffee. Take another dose of medicine. Blow my nose. Wash another bottle. Motherhood has taught me that strength isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s simply showing up with a box of tissues in one hand and a baby in…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

3:33

The clock blinks3:33. Again. The candle cracklesthough there is no breeze. The catstares into a cornerwhere nothing stands— or perhapswhere something does. Outside,the trees swaywithout permission. Inside,my coffee has gone cold,my cigarette burns itself away,and another poemarrives uninvited. People askwhere inspiration comes from. I never knowhow to explainthat it knockspreciselywhen…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The Witching Hour

There is a reasonthe world grows quietat three in the morning. Even the windbegins whisperinginstead of speaking. This is the hourwhen old houses remember,when ravens dream,when the moonwanders barefootthrough empty fields. Some peopleare afraid of it. I have always feltit knew my name. Perhaps becauseit has watched mecry without witnesses. Perhaps becauseit understandsthat some womenonly…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

Surviving

They say everybody grieves differently. They whisper itlike it’s comfort, like those four wordscan softenthe edges of loss. Maybe they’re right. But what they never tell you is that grief doesn’t even grievethe same way twice. I’ve buried people. I’ve buried animals. I’ve buried dreams. I’ve buried the futureI thought I was going to have. Every goodbye has carved me a little…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The Day the Ocean Stopped

Vancouverwas supposed to be graduation photos, birthday shopping, boats on the water, and a little adventurefor a motherand her almost-two-year-old boy. The morningfelt warm. I thoughtit was the apartment. The summer. The city. I didn’t know his tiny body was already burning. He sleptthrough sidewalks,through Tim Hortons,through streetsI didn’t know. I got us lost. So I followed the…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

I'm Working

They thinkworkis only the kindthat pays youevery second Friday. But tonight,I am buildingsomethingno one else can see. One poem. One page. One sentenceat a time. I am planting wordswhere bruises used to bloom alone. I am teaching griefhow to become art. Teaching survivalhow to become a storysomeone elsemight one dayneed. My phone rings. A missed call. A request. Another small…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

Between the Chores

Some daysthe poems arrive every hour,lined up like obedient birdswaiting on a wire.Other days,there are bottles to wash,little hands reaching for me,laundry climbing into mountains,floors asking to be swept,dogs asking to go outside,and tiny voices reminding methat they only get one childhood.So if the page grows quiet,it isn’t because the words have left.They’re tucked into the basket of clean…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The Noon Light

By noon, the world has forgotten how quiet it was before dawn. Coffee cups sit empty. Tiny socks have found the laundry basket. The dishes have become a mountain again. Somewhere, a child is laughing. A dog is stretched across the floor, dreaming of fields it has never seen. The sun spills through the window without asking who had a hard night, who is still healing, who is…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

Here's to the Rest of Our Lives

Some friendships are builtover coffee,late-night phone calls,and inside jokes. Ours was builtinside hospital rooms,waiting rooms,cemeteries,and the unbearable silencethat follows hearing,“I’m sorry.” We learned each other’s griefbefore we learnedhow to survive it. Our first babiesarrived almost together.So did the losses. Your arms learnedthe impossible weightof saying goodbye to…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The First Chapter

Every storyhas a first page. Ours wasn’t writtenwith grand speechesor dramatic beginnings. It was writtenwith a five-year-old’s smile, a sleeping newborn, and a mothertrying to memorizeevery tiny detailbefore time could steal it away. If I’d knownhow quickly little hands grow,how swiftly babies become boys, I might have held my breatha little longer. But maybe that’s the giftof…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The Boy with Pockets Full of Magic

He never comes homewith empty hands. If it isn’t a feather,it’s a rock. If it isn’t a stick,it’s a leaf shaped like a heart,a flower too pretty to leave behind,or a story no one else noticed. He collects little miraclesthe way grown-ups collect worries. He sees dragonswhere I see fallen trees. He sees castleswhere I see bridges. He sees treasurehidden beneath every step. And maybe that’s…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

The World According to Big Brother

He doesn’t need magic,only laughter. He throws his hands into the air,makes impossible faces,becomes a one-boy circusjust because one little girlis watching. Gabby studies every move,wide-eyed,like she’s trying to memorizethe language of her brother’s happiness. One day she’ll chase after him.One day she’ll keep up.One day she’ll probably steal his toysand insist she did no such thing. But…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

Emmy Bunny

Before the world knew you were growing, you were alreadymy little Emmy Bunny— all quick smiles,curious eyes,and a hearttoo gentle for this worldto ever deserve. You ran through Halloweenslike every doorstepheld another adventure. You built whole worldsfrom tiny bricks,held them up with pride,and somehow taught methat imaginationis its own kind of courage. Year after year,your face has…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

My Teddy Bear

Some people hear“Teddy Bear”and think of something soft. I think of someone safe. The little armsthat wrap around my neck. The sleepy headthat still finds my shoulder. The smilethat can untanglethe hardest day. You’re growing tallerthan yesterday,braver than last week,stronger every season. But somehow… you’re stillmy Teddy Bear. Not because you’re little. Because homehas always lookeda…

[betweenbruisesandblooms]

When Theo Smiles

The corners of the roomchange first. Then the people. Then me. One grin,those familiar dimples,eyes squeezed almost shut— and suddenlythe day isn’t as difficultas it was a moment ago. Children don’t knowhow much light they carry. They simply shine. The rest of usare lucky enoughto stand nearby.