The waiting was breath held under water, the longing a crushing ocean wave, and the scalpel sharp as moonlight. At the end of the darkest day, my daughter smiled pure sunshine, her smell was all I craved, and her eyes were like planets bright. She was the centre of of my universe, she burrowed beneath my skin, engraved herself onto my heart as tenderly each night I sang about the secrets of love in words that bind us tight. Kim M. Russell, 16th April 2022
Today our challenge is to write a variation on one of my favourite forms, a sonnet. We are writing curtal sonnets, a form developed by Gerard Manley Hopkins that has eleven lines, instead of the usual fourteen, and the last line is shorter than the ten that precede it. I reworked an old poem.