It has been very difficult to write recently for a number of reasons, so I’m going to write in lyrical form, as it seems to be easier.


In my plaza flora stands, but does not thrive –

Flowers breathe out their colour.

I am most aware of absence

Which swells, in disparity to my appeal,

Like a tree which grows but pales in colour,

And which cannot parade foliage –

Insipid and stark beside its counterparts.

They remain unassailable.


The syllables of the words I cannot speak

Choke and clog and strangle.


And still, the closet stands, full of all the garments.


I wish again to give myself up; to surrender and feel silence –

To be able to muffle and dull the sounds;

I wish to be cleansed pure.

I try to elude the scratching and plucking –

I know I must to subsist.

But it is hard.


Yesterday it was 8 months since Freddie was born, and soon it will be the fifth month anniversary of when he should have been born.  Tomorrow Sam and I will attend a remembrance service at the hospital.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Direction.

  1. Danielle France says:

    I love you. Such moving words. Xxxxxx

  2. Jenny says:

    This is stunning, I love you both so much xxxxxx

  3. Becky Holt says:

    I’m still reading, that’s all I can say really. Still taking it all in. And you are in my thoughts most days as I potter around learning to midwife. I feel for you deeply Abster. Looking forward to seeing you in December xxx

  4. Hels says:


Leave a Reply

Your e-mail address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.