I have lived a domestic life. In a smallish town in Queensland. The travel bug didn't bite me early like many of my peers. Instead my life has been a domestic one, of family. Birthing, babies, breastfeeding, school and home. Motherhood is an overarching theme that appears in my writing. At times this domesticity and 'small town-ness' has gotten me down. It's the grass is always greener syndrome, those other lives appear so glamorous while mine is just so regular.
but it is mine. I came to think of this as the cosy circle of family and hearth, and embrace it in a womanly way of thinking of weaving poems like a witch weaves magick spells and such. I cook up my poems as a kitchen witch would use those familiar herbs to heal... And a kitchen witch is still a witch after all!
The kitchen witch
The kitchen witch
Whose cheeks are rosy
Stirring, stirring,
Ever slowly.
Bite of air
From crisp of dawn
Kiss her brow
On every morn.
Stir the pot
'till simmer gently
'round a bout
'till fragrant scenty.
Cosy, posy
Into pot.
Large wooden spoon
to eat the lot.
xxxx
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