On days so dark
I think only of eclipses
my fingers ache from probing
as I try to find a fragment
of my mother
inside my belly button.
One small discovery
and we could be reconciled.
Hours with only fluff
and other debris to show.
My belly feels sore, tight.
Nothing prepares me
for a seahorse,
a bloody seahorse,
stuck part way out,
tail hooked.
I ease it onto my chest.
In a bowl of salty water
it bobs about, happily.
What is it trying to tell me?
To forget the whole nurturing business,
focus on making your own way
or get what you need from books,
there are plenty of good mothers (and fathers)
lurking within the pages.
Note: Male seahorses give birth; neither parent care for their young.
Belinda has had a varied career: psychiatric nurse, counsellor, lecturer and creative arts practitioner. Her poems have appeared in magazines, for example, Brittle Star, Dream Catcher, ARTEMISpoetry and Obsessed with Pipework. She has poems on-line and in anthologies. She won the Poetry in Motion Competition to turn her poem into a film and read at the Cheltenham Literature Festival. You can find her at belindarimmer.com.
Foxglove Journal 