‘It is possible to bring all of ourselves to the hike, the difficult and the positive parts, even if we don’t want to talk about it, we let people know we are there.’

I was feeling gutted, raw

like a slab of meat

on a butcher’s block

Even though I had no energy,

somehow I got myself

to the Rush Land Poets.

I didn’t feel like doing poetry.

I didn’t feel like doing anything

because my mother’s news

had knocked me out of my body.

All the feelings were too much.

How is it possible to bear

the diabetes which gave her

an ulcer,

which turned to gangrene

all green and black.

First her toe had to come off

and now the doctor says

her leg.

I knew my mum was nervous,

frightened about the operation

and so was I.

My mind was wandering.

I wasn’t with the group.

I was thinking about her.

The group worked on a poem

about going on a journey together.

I was seeing stars in my head

going through this dark tunnel

seeing my mum in a white gown, like an angel.

Her dad was calling to her from his grave.

While the group made a poem,

they didn’t ignore my tears,

but they didn’t ask me too much.

They told me ‘Think positively

She will get through eventually.’

But she won’t be the same like me.

She will have a false leg

and a wheelchair.

She has a bit of spirit in her

not that much - like half a moon

but just enough light on her

that with support

like me and the Rushland Poets

we’ll carry her through