Back to poetry index
Previous poem


by Haryanti Stuart

So many little deaths.

The first at birth.

I ask, “Please don’t cut the cord.

Not yet. 
Wait until the pulsing stops”.

This conduit is too intimate

to sunder with so crude an instrument.

Months later, suckling you

before your weaning,

tears fall unbidden, as I wrap

layers of protection round

my heart, holding tight this tender, 

final offering

of my cells to yours.

These are the first of many partings:

first day at school, first sleepover,

first time behind the wheel.

Trivial in themselves, but each a step

to that wrenching day when

child leaves home, a child no more.

But under all the tears such

joy, as you make your 

eager steps across bridges

built solid with my love.

As you grow older, so do I.

Will I be ready to cross the

bridge from this 

world’s journey to the next,

as I in turn part finally from you?

                                                                                   Next poem