Poems & Essays

17 Jun


General/Column 2 Responses

The thing about having a baby,
or tumbling through a dark hole night after night
not knowing which way is up or down,
feeling like you’ve lost your way
and definitely your mind,
with bile and breast milk stains on your shirt,
is that someday your baby will be fourteen.

She’ll help you paint your walls,
and dip the roller in the tray
without making a mess.
She’ll play her music and you’ll sing along to every song,
except the French ones,
and when you ask about the lyrics
she’ll translate for you.
“It’s about guitars and being free,” she’ll say,
pausing with the roller above her head,
“but it’s not as romantic in English as it is in French.”
And you’ll finish the room together wondering
what you’ll listen to after she leaves in a few short years.
Wondering how a nightmare turned into this.

And you’ll want to tell every women
with cracked nipples and crazed eyes:
Hold on.
It won’t always be this deep
or dark
or hard.

Wait for what’s ahead.
Wait for white walls and music.






Tricia Friesen Reed is a writer, storyteller and educator with international experience in community development. She facilitates creative arts retreats with Wonderscape Creative Arts Inc. and her writing has been published in The MidWest Review, Power for Living and Geez Magazine among others. Tricia lives in Saskatchewan, Canada and blogs at experimentingaswegrow.wordpress.com

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1 Comment

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  1. Katie

    June 17, 2019 at 5:36 pm

    Really enjoyed this piece—thanks for sharing!


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