Small Sips

In those quiet moments, caught between two appointments, sometimes – just sometimes – you spend that time wisely. So, standing in my kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and preparing to get several trains back to London I wrote a poem. I went from Nottingham to my family home, back for the Easter holidays. My last academic holiday. This is because my course finishes early, and I’ve been to my final seminar. That’s it. I’m only technically a student (once I finish my dissertation.)

I’ll be honest, I struggled with that for a bit, and today in my kitchen, in the stillness of waiting I wrote a poem about how I felt about it all. It really helped. I’d encourage everyone to pick up a pen or pencil once in a while and write down their thoughts.

I haven’t edited it, I haven’t polished, preened or punctuated. Here it is, just as I wrote it. It’s raw form for raw feelings. I hope you enjoy it.

Small Sips

A girl, stands at a window,

Jeans, vest, jumper

-the normal affair,

wipes her nose on her sleeve,

a habit she’s never lost-

and sips her cup of tea.


What you don’t know is that

her world is changing

and rarely stands still

She’s in the eye of the storm

And she watches the way

The wind buffets her about.


She’s leaving.

Taking the leap,

into a world she’s been preparing for,

but never experienced.

Naive perhaps, but at least she’s honest.

Her life is going to change,

for better or for worse.


Her grades might pay off

Her friends might help her

She might hear back

from those bottles she sent out to sea

that she’s got a job

-or no thank yous, you’re not for us-

rather than being ignored.


She might be happy,

That, no one knows,

Except that, awash with uncertainty

She’s not laughing,

But she’s not unhappy either.

Her head aches,

Her hands hesitate on the keys,

She stops, she waits

for a moment of peace.

And pours a cup of tea.



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