Story Of A Good Girl | Jenny Wren
Dolls lined up, all in a row.
Fairy girl, bright hair, wasn’t to know.
Told I was a flirt with my big eyes and lashes.
Two years old.
When I got older, my imagination burst.
Animals and princesses as I turned and turned.
Heart hungry, heart shy.
Pinning my hopes on those boys that I liked.
If I only knew how vulnerable
I looked on the outside.
#
When I grew older, the horses arrived
I learned magic with my hands and healed them
With my mind.
Hours in the stableblock, whispering
Hauling hay
Sweating in my good body, girl body,
Woman’s body
That threatened to turn bad.
Dangerous in my knee socks
And my skirt
Thigh-high.
And now it was drink and endless nights.
Told I loved the drama
Instead I tried to hide.
You’d find me under tables and in cupboards most times.
Overwhelmed from the pain
I carried
Inside.
They didn’t want to know—
Thought that my instability
Was an affront to their ability
Every mouthful I denied
Mocking their sacrifice,
Sometimes I still feel the choke
Where food symbolised
The food of love.
#
Painted patterns
On my skin
Needles pushed through cartilage.
A different kind.
As a child I worshipped
At the stain-glass walls
Now I worship
Under artist’s scrawls
The sound of the gun can penetrate
Through to the bone.
Pressing to become more real, more real
More.
I found a man
Who called me home
That irresistible emptiness
So familiar
Beckoning forth.
#
Body rounding, what is this?
I know I dreamed of you
Little fish
You wriggle and thrive
And all I have to do to keep you
Is survive
And birthing you could be
The hardest thing in my life
And I did it,
And you’re here
And you’re telling me that it was all lies.
Look how the pretty one
Can be bloody and wise
Roaring her child earthside
#
Unlearning takes time.
The labyrinth to traverse
The lessons so hard
You have to learn twice.
I am not the dancing girl
But the woman
In her fortress.
The warrior
Even when my voice trembles.
Those hands for healing
Now used in birthing
The power that I find in words
Come together
Weave
A magic web around my world
#
You will attempt to cross
At your peril.
What I Learned From My Son This Week | Jenny Wren
Today is a big week for us as it's Judah's first week in reception class at school.
I have had so much going on with work and other stresses, and I recently was recommended to purchase a piece of Kyanite, a gemstone which is said to help with psychic boundaries and emotional wellness. I was so happy when it arrived last week and I have been wearing it daily, and hanging it up on the bathroom door when I go to sleep at night.
When I woke up yesterday morning I couldn't find it anywhere. Judah always gets up before me. I searched in the laundry basket, in my bedroom, anywhere it would have logically been and it was gone. I felt so upset as I felt like this necklace had been a proactive step for me in restoring some harmony and balance.
Judah is a bit of a magpie. He loves gemstones and jewellery and he has always been particularly fascinated with crystal cages and popping the crystals in and out. I asked him if he had seen it. No, he hadn't. I asked him again. I told him he wasn't in trouble I would just really like to have it back.
He heaved a deep sigh and went to the coffee table, where he opened one of the drawers to reveal my necklace, crystal out of the cage.
I didn't reprimand him, I just reminded him - Judah, this is mummy's special necklace. We don't take other people's special things.
"Well..." he said "You take my kitty and give it to Autumn-VI"
I was stunned. Judah has had this orange cat beanie baby since he was two, when his father and I separated, it was a good way to keep the comfort and continuity when he went on sleepovers. He loves this orange kitty. It gets packed dutifully in the front pocket of his suitcase and is clutched to his chest at night.
Autumn-Violet is in the stage where she wants EVERYTHING. Anything that she perceives to be of value she just plain WANTS and she will kick up a fuss to have it. I will admit if I want five minutes peace to get stuff done it has been easier to give her Judah's kitty. She loves the privilege and babbles at it while I get on with something else.
Judah would sometimes snatch it back and I would gently remind him that she is a baby.
But obviously to him - this was not okay. I was giving his treasured possession to the baby and invalidating his feelings. I had been doing something really wrong without even realising it.
It made me really think about the importance we adults place on our possessions versus our children's. How my necklace that gave me emotional comfort I had automatically attributed greater value than his long-standing kitty.
I felt awful.
It was a good reminder to me that for little ones, their experience and autonomy are just as important if not more so than ours.
I apologised sincerely and told him that he was quite right, and I had been very wrong. Good thing they are more patient and forgiving of us as we learn.
You Might Be The Last | Jenny Wren
You might be my last baby.
You might be my last everything.
You might be the last mysterious rounding of my tummy.
The dwelling and dreaming and kicking inside.
You might be the last flush of my cheeks as I rock and dance to the rhythm of your birthing.
You might be the last triumph.
You might be the last snuffling, rooting and wide mouth looking for the breast.
You might be the last giggling, round baby putting your fingers up my nose.
So you'll forgive me for wanting to hold on a little longer.
