"It is still the 'firsts' that hurt so badly. The first birthday, the first time I dared to go shopping alone, the first time a baby I knew was given the same name, the first baby boy to be born in our family, the first holiday, the first Christmas, the first time I held a baby. Although they grow less frequent, there will always be more painful 'firsts'"

Becci

Luke's little feet

Friends of fear

The fear of God is coming like fire on a winter wind,
My end is here and gone again.
Friends of fear ease near, your prickling my skin,
and spilling Atlantic sea anemones over my warm spleen.
I've seen and become clean.

Emerging from a sack of claustrophobic horses, I tread gingerly.
He lingers beyond broken fingers.
Friends of fear ring clear, you're splitting my nerve,
and sending it head long into the presence of absence.

The fear of God has come, crisp as a clear blue day in February.
My intent is not nearly spent.
Friends of fear I'm here, your peeling my eyes,
while I wait for the incoming ridges of high pressure.
I've come and long gone.

Glad Fryer