Little thistles

 

The bad thoughts will arrive

little thistles that cling

But I move them on

Yes, I am digging a hole

in the garden

for little thistles

with that stormy wind whining

 

And I am worrying about Level 3

and the people who are hungry

and the people who are sick

and still I can’t sleep

 

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day

and I’m making a daisy chain

of mother daughter memories

 

The time we read books together

or saw the Giant’s Causeway

or ate New York bagels

The times we hugged and

the times we will hug

again soon

 

Today I am lifting

my head above

the Covid clouds like a little

periscope a stretching

swan’s neck

 

to see how the world

will be

 

Paula Green

 

 

Originally published in the Herald‘s Canvas magazine (9.5.20). The last line was left off by mistake which made the future even more uncertain. You get a little jolt at the end of the poem in the paper version and that is quite cool! I am very grateful the paper has published a suite of my lockdown poems over the past four weeks.

Today, I sending Jacinda a virtual bouquet of flowers, because I am so proud and inspired by the way she is reshaping the way nations can be led.