Tonight my Dad and I were having
one of those great philosophical conversations
over dinner, salad dressing with fresh garlic
and ideas full of flavour
We talked about Pope Francis’ words
about the earth our sister, our mother, our home

Dad remembered the story of the first astronaut
who spent 4 hours out in space
two circles around the earth
and came home sick and depressed 
away from the earth’s heartbeat
the electromagnetic pulse all we require to stay alive
Now spacesuits have this little beat built in
the heart of our home
pulsing close to her children in space

As for me, I have no desire to see
the outside of my mother’s womb
the shining blue roundness of the earth
gleaming against the blackness of space

I am happy to be a child of the earth
bare feet on the dirt
toes in the grass
A humble creature made of dust
and living among the flowers

I know, without seeing the stars up close
that I’ve got a spark of that eternal fire within me
My soul travels to realms afar
within the confines of this blue egg
this delicate haven of life
in the blackness

I have no desire to leave my mother’s house
until I travel to see my Father
A journey without fear
a coming home from home
a further blossoming
into Life.


Late Night Waking

My little one wakes in the night
in search of a snuggle.

All day she runs and plays
talks and sings
dresses up and strips down
to toddle about in her diaper.

She seems like such a big girl sometimes
counting her toys:
“One, two, seven, ten, sixteen…”
and asking,
“What’s after ‘e,’ Mama?

But inside, in some ways,
she’s still a baby
only two.

And sometimes she needs to come home
find that spot in my arms where she fits just perfectly,
fuzzy warm head resting on my chest,
luscious eyelids fluttering like slow-motion butterflies…

After long enough to write this poem,
and give her many kisses,
her little comfort-tank fills up again
and she nestles into sleep.