From My Heart to Yours

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It’s been quite a journey – emotional, topsy turvy, wonderful – releasing my little book of poems into the world! I wrote these poems over the period of about a year, coinciding with the time my husband and I decided to begin our slow migration from Japan back to my home country of Canada. The poems, in a way, became my diary, or journal, a safe space for me to process the experience of such a huge transition, and as such, they are so much a part of who I am and have become over the process of traveling these past few years.

At the same time, they really point to where I look for my healing and balm in the world – which is to say, the beautiful, perfect natural world around us. I think everyone will be able to find a little bit of themselves in this collection, which celebrates nature while finding a way toward honouring the self as part of this magically wondrous life.

I was incredibly shocked and touched to find that LAND reached #3 in Amazon in two categories: Nature Poems, and Women Author Poems. I’m thrilled for any chance to share my experience of the world through words, and thank you for all your support of my work through this blog over the years!

Please find the book here, and I’d love to hear from you!

Tammy xo

 

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My Pain is Not a Garden

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My new poem, My Pain is Not a Garden, was just published in “A River of Milk”, Issue 1: Sylvia. My work featured along Sylvia Plath’s – a deep honour!


My Pain is Not a Garden

 

I live, I do not yet live

planets write our demise

as the soft spring buds grow

but my pain is not a garden

and how fast it turns

 

And if I was supported the way

ancient earth holds its flowers

or clouds cling to the mountain

because her mammoth secrets

need protection, the raging

clash of parts inside

me waiting for the answer

might need it no more

 

I hear a child shriek and

ghosts fill the world,

an old forgotten schoolyard at dawn,

the sounds of becoming, mothers and

children, half-eaten sandwiches and mayo

dripping on linoleum floors in procession

to war-green garbage cans, cookies

and milk, stories and hugs

under the covers just past bedtime

 

I thought I would be living this twice.

 I thought I would be living this twice.

 

Every time an ambulance wails outside

I wonder who is leaving and who will

take their place, and how they

will get here and for whom

I wonder if my belly knows

more than I do or if waiting is           

over

 

I saved up

learning like crinkled unused coupons hopefully stacked,

unbelieving of skin in my skin,

bone in my bones.

 

I can feel her anyway, growing

inside me, a tiny-breasted elfling

with my eyes and tufts of hair

asking me to hold her in her finite

solitude

 

I’m Mother Mountain and she’s not a secret

any more than the buds

will stop coming in spring.