The Pink House

A journey through loss, longing, and the quiet becoming of motherhood

Before you, my womb was a void.

Departing eggs found their way to freedom and I wept for each one.

The internal silence suddenly felt unfamiliar, yet I knew nothing but stillness.

The empty pink house was built for you, so I prayed you would find your way home.

I began to place tears inside, hoping you would sense their desire to carry you here.

Further weeping only flooded our home, keeping you from entering.

I smashed each bottle with frustration and fright, seeking the answers for your distance among the shards of might.

It was not until I cleared away the debris, that the pink house eased from tension.

As I exited, an orb of light floated towards me.

I held the door wide, clearing the passage for its entry.

It landed softly within the corner of the room, planting itself, wall to wall.

With tightly shut eyes, I closed the door, leaving you to rest peacefully.

Opening my eyes, I had reached the steps to carry you.

At the top of the stairway, was the entrance to a new stage of being.

Each footing taking us closer to our new realm, so I continue to climb, supporting us in developing into our future.

When we reach the top, we shall enter our world embraced as two new forms, living within the harmony of mothers cradle.