Like memories, by Britta Benson

I wrote this poem yesterday, during an expressive writing workshop. Not sure if it’s finished yet. I like it the way it is, but might play around with it in a wee while. Like memories Like memories, always, flexible, stretchy, sketchy, the plasticity of my neurons at play. Stories told, a little different every time.

Mum’s smile, by Britta Benson

This time of year, the days between Christmas and the New Year, is a time of reflection. It is also the time, when those who have passed away are most deeply missed. I do take great solace in remembering the happy moments I had with my mum. There are millions of lovely memories. Here’s just

Memories, by Britta Benson

It rains so hard today, that I might have to teach my home to swim. I’ve been watching the rain fall on saturated ground for quite some time now and it sparked a poem. Inevitable. Really. Here goes. Memories Memories fall like rain. Inevitable. Get hit by a touch, a smile, a word, years old,

Belonging, by Britta Benson

Today, my poem was inspired by my old phone. A phone I keep, because it has all the messages my mother sent me. And although she died over a year and a half ago, I still hang on to this phone and can’t bring myself to let go. Not quite. Not yet. I will, in