Skip to content
Lucy Writers Platform

Lucy Writers Platform

  • Home
  • About us
    • About LWP
    • Editors
    • Writers
    • About Lucy Cavendish
    • Constitution
  • My Cambridge
    • Lucy Interviews
    • Lucy Features
    • Postgraduate Corner
      • My Research Articles
  • Write for us
    • Submissions and Contact
    • Special editions
    • Directory
  • Writing
    • Arts
      • Art and design
      • Books
      • Dance
      • Fashion
      • Film and Media
      • Music
      • Theatre
    • Creative Writing
      • Fiction
      • Flash Fiction
      • Poetry
      • Resources
    • Environment
    • General
    • Health and Wellbeing
      • Lucy Features
      • Short read
    • Interviews
    • Opinion
    • Politics
      • Features
      • My Feminisms
    • STEM

Strawberry: a poem by Kate McMeans

24th May 202224th May 2022  Kate McMeans

Kate McMeans’ beautiful poem captures a single, precious moment in which a new mother is able to shed labels and expectations and be herself.

Strawberry

The moon pulls herself from my roof

to my window, her fingers

peeking in the velvet room soft with dark,

ocean waves, and lullabies. 

The baby sleeps milk drunk, but her hands, relentless 

as morning glory vines, rise despite themselves. I cradle myself against her––

become bridge from consciousness to slumber.

Swift, confident on the transfer from bed to crib,

feet down first so not to startle the mind––

a kind betrayal. No blankets allowed so 

I tuck her into my motherhood, slip it off

like a dress. My scent mixes with whispered prayers:

Please watch over her, love her as I do, please, do not let her wake
     

in the moonlight for the night is mine, and I wish to partake in these selfish pleasures. 

I clock out with a click of the door. 

My breasts soft, they sigh out a day’s worth of suckling, 

turn from function to form.

I draw crescent smiles 

along the curves of my body, my breath swells like a tide.

We settle into the depth of the night. 

An occasional cry 

from the voice box latched to my hip and I freeze, 

the glow of the fridge 

a headlight. But we sense the safety in silence.

Secure a single strawberry, slide to the sink.

The cool water runs over us and we are consumed

by teeth, by delight, by the sweet moment where we are nobody. 

Only a nobody can press her toes to the tile 

and sneak a strawberry under the stars. Orion shifts his belt 

but we pay him no mind. We are daughters of Diana, the bear in our belly 

asleep only because we will her to–

I shift the kitchen blinds, nestle beside my moon shadow and the lot of us howl; the shadow, 

the bear, the mother, the strawberry. Our cries echo

freedom in the soft blue light. We separate 

and solidify. I sandwich myself between 

duvet and sheets, beside my baby’s sweet breath lullaby.

I surrender myself to sleep as the moon sets herself below the skyline. 

About Kate McMeans

Kate is a Northern Californian poet. She received her B.A. in English at the University of California Berkeley. Kate makes sense of her world through poetry, often examining her experiences with mental illness, relationships, and recently becoming a mother. She occasionally updates her Instagram, littleinksplatter, but would much rather be squatting over a tide pool or walking amongst giants. 

Feature image: Photo by Vladislav Bogatkin on Unsplash

Posted in Creative Writing, PoetryTagged: Creative Writing, Motherhood, Poetry

Post navigation

Had One Thing Changed by Abbigail Nguyen Rosewood
Crone: a poem by Shikhandin
  • Miscarry by Kerry Byrne
    By Kerry Byrne
  • Spin, Thread, Weave by Rym Kechacha
    By Rym Kechacha
  • Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield
    By Rebecca Clark
  • About us
  • Writers
  • About Lucy Cavendish
  • Write for us
  • Submissions and Contact
  • Special editions
Top