FEBRUARY, 2020

Ferocious south-westerlies cut to the bone:
a merciless invasion from the Arctic
that intensifies my anxiety and sense of separation.
Today feels like the end of an era...

It's February, and storm Ciara is battering the land.
You, too, are agitated and anxious to be gone.
Jangling nerves make you snappy. I picture you alone later
in the taxi scribbling notes and frowning,
deep in thought. And my heart aches for your nervous uncertainty:
new career in an unfamiliar city - a huge step up.
Sensing your thoughts: Am I up to the challenge? Will I succeed?

Trying so hard to absorb it all for you, to
free you from what I know is gnawing at you inside.
It is my destiny, my duty, willingly undertaken.
The definition of a mother's love.



Lingering now on Portsdown Hill,
the city below aglow with lights.

And knowing you're down there somewhere
in your lonely hotel room is emotionally draining,
because I know I must leave soon for home without you.
But it's so hard to tear myself away,
so, so hard.

A spectral umbilical is tugging at my heart.