Up She Rises
Hooray and up she rises early in the morning
She’s grateful to be alive with these tumours crackling in her bones
Coaxes arthritic legs to take the first steps of the day
There’s weight in her chest as she leans into the bin and colours tissues with vomit
Her eldest, curled into a ball, refuses to leave the heat of the sheets
Her youngest, like a cannon fired, races through rooms shedding clothes
Hooray and up she rises
Downstairs, tangled blankets, sour milk and discarded apple cores
Pace yourself, it’s only breakfast
The clock ticks as the children play
She gathers milk and cereal to fill bowls already laid out
We’re going to be late
Hooray and up she rises
She trails the children as they speed to school Don’t trip don’t trip don’t trip
The teacher scoops up her daughter and carries her away
At home Play with me! begs the toddler
She finds challenge then solace in plates cleared and washing spinning
The sight of a scrunched sock or coffee stain bubbles panic in her throat
Hooray and up she rises
The day passes, she needs both solitude and socialising
Coffee is consumed, cake crumbled, she tries and fails to sit
Notifications ping, her mind buffers
At pickup time, she’s relieved to have her daughter back
Wishes they could walk home the quick way just this once
Hooray and up she rises
If she’s lucky, she will find a podcast while she sorts dinner
She’ll restore order to a room, set out school clothes, pack bags
The carrot of the iPad will be dangled as the curtains are drawn
Most of the time her husband will return to peace and a home-cooked meal
Though they are both distracted, tired and he is longing for the weekend
Hooray and up she rises
The children are too tired to eat so they snatch five minutes of conversation
But there is space for pudding before the dolly wars kick in
The bath proves a distraction as a private game of bubbles and Barbies begins
She sorts and folds, wipes and sweeps, buoyed by the prospect of bed
While he seizes the chance to scroll on his phone and checks shirts for stains
Hooray and up she rises
Finally, it is the golden hour: stories in bed, hot tea and milk
The bed is warm, her daughter’s arms are around her waist
She wonders, What shall I make for dinner tomorrow?
She wants to be sociable but craves her space, her thoughts
A few pages of a book, an episode of Who Do You Think You Are?
Rebecca Brown is a disabled mother with incurable cancer. She started writing when the hospice gave her a gratitude journal. She shares her experience growing up disabled and living with cancer. Rebecca is published in Wishbone Words, Bluebottle and Recesses.