Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
The Echo

No comments

Because memory swims in the cells
of the body and not in the soul
or the mind or the dark pool of
the eye, my body gave way for yours.
Track marks from you grew over the globe
of my belly, my buttocks and the
pale skin of my thighs, your journey
mapped out for me to trace each epic
month. And I was so big I thought I
must be carrying the moon. No, not
just the moon, but the sun, the planets,
the stars and the whole universe with
the dark spaces in between.
When you were born you were silver
like a fish, shimmering in the low light
of the hospital bed, and now you swim
and swim further away from me.
But this body will always be a beacon
shining in the sky, alive with love,
because when you were growing
inside of me, two hearts beat
and the one that remains misses the echo.


Sam Payne is writer living in Devon, UK. She is currently studying toward a MA in Creative Writing with Teesside University. Her work has appeared in several places online, including Ink, Sweat and Tears, Toasted Cheese, and Poetry Space. She’s the mother of a six-year-old warrior princess.


More from



Comments are now closed for this piece.