Heather Pound

i look at you
and my heart is sore
since i know you’re doing your level best
and have come this far already

but i see the struggle 
the grief, the hurt, the frequent pain
the moments of despair.

i wish i could bear this for you,
but i will cheer you on
listen to your thoughts
hold space for you to weep.

if you don’t believe it yourself—i do
(i always have and i always will)

that you will make it up this mountain,
summit that lofty peak.
you will plant your flag victorious,
and triumphantly proclaim 
“i have done it, this is mine.”

and while i’ll celebrate with joy,
dance freely in the street,
i won’t be surprised at all
because i always believed
you would.

heather pound 2025

Photo by Rosie Kerr on Unsplash

on the very last visit,
(the one before the call 
and the rush to her bedside
to wait)

she said, “why don’t you just take it,’
and pointed to the teeny golden shape
behind glass on a shelf
that she knew i eventually wanted.

(she must have somehow known 
her time was near)

an elephant, one of many gifted to her
over the years by those who knew 
she had lived in a village 
in rural south asia

and loved these gentle giants
back when they would amble through
the village, and one must be aware
that tigers still roamed free.

yet this pachyderm was made
in a different exotic place,
formed with the shells of bullets 
from a despot’s terrible reign.

it was repurposed and brought by her son
(who later became my husband)
and treasured ever since
—a reminder that love always, always 
conquers hate.

and now it sits near my bedside,
next to the photo of us mere minutes after
he got down on one knee to propose
to this widow in south asia, but in an
urban place 

where we later lived and rubbed shoulders 
with women inexcusably harmed and 
were honoured to watch them 
remember that love conquers hate
every time. 

	—tapestry of life


heather pound 2025

i hope there’s a heaven for cats like you.
the ones who arrived when needed most,
and stayed a friend 
through thick and thin.

who made her laugh by day 
and slept by her side at night
(even though at times you’d wake
and find a mouse to bring inside,
crashing around her room)

who welcomed her home,
a safe haven, a furry little friend
with so much conversation for a cat.
the way you always loved her most.

and since you’re gone (and four years
is far too few) i hope there is a heaven
for cats like the one next door 
who has taken it upon itself 
to comfort my grown-up girl,
bolting in her door, asking for affection,
making her smile through tears.

maybe someday in that heaven 
you’ll meet and remember
her.

heather pound 2025 

peace is not crafted 
in marbled halls of power.
it’s not the purview of the wise,
nor the product of a boardroom
strategically drafted.

peace is a candle, just a humble flame  
that sparks one-by-one by one
within the hearts and minds of those 
who seek the quiet and clear the mess,
who focus on what’s better,
provide the space—and wait.

it is the gift of a heart that listens,
a mind with intention, 
a scaffolding of love. 

and i have heard the desperate-hearted say
that while joy would be amazing,
they could contentedly live long
if they simply had peace.

heather pound 2026

Getty Images For Unsplash+

today is filled with wind and rain 
in a season meant for sun.
but yesterday i spent some time 
communing with trees
trying to recall if they were 
maple, oak or elm and was pleased
when i identified birch by its trunk.

and when the path went through 
native new zealand bush, there were
two feathered tails, chirping and 
flicking their fans from branch to branch
as if i wasn’t there,
and a tui perched unbothered
not a meter from my face
black with iridescent blue 
flashing in the sun.

but even on this stormy day, 
i looked out my kitchen window
and saw a single sunflower peeking bravely 
over the fence from my neighbour’s garden
and he doesn’t even know 
i adore their golden rays.

heather pound 2025

Photo by David Vig on Unsplash

Merry Christmas!

i really should expect it by now,
but each and every year it takes me by surprise
as i unwrap the little trumpeting angels
carved with love and hung upon ribbons of scarlet 
and place them on the tree

one for each of my family, 
our names scrawled on the bottom
in my father’s own hand.

[and in that moment
grief arrives with her bittersweet bands
and wraps them around my chest
as i remember him.]

and am reminded how
i took them to calcutta
and purchased a tiny tree simply for them 
because we had no extra space
when our youngest was only seven

and i remember his giggles and grins and how 
he would climb onto laps often

my littlest one who’s still here
but is grown and understandably
is not to be cuddled often.

[and in that moment
grief arrives with her bittersweet bands
and wraps them around my chest
as i remember him.]

then i think of my other babes too,
grown up and off on their own,
three more sets of eager, small hands 
that would decorate the tree

adoring who they currently are, but missing 
what used to be.

[and in that moment
grief arrives with her bittersweet bands
and wraps them around my chest
as i remember them.]

and i breathe and reflect, isn't it marvellous
to have precious ones to miss.
memories stored up to treasure,
nostalgic  in times like these?

and i would never trade the ache right now 
for love to have never been....

then while the bands of both bitter and sweet
flex and stretch on repeat,
i plug in the cable to light up the tree

and the angels
carved by my father’s loving hands
catch the light once again.

heather pound 2025

 i forgot to pause 
and watch the leafy palm fronds 
as sea breeze blew 
and made them wave towards passing birds 
chorusing the dawn. 

and i neglected to notice 
the way sunshine warmed
my hungry skin in spring,
or to breath  in slow 
the fragrance of rain  
mingling with earth.

and yet i remember 
wondering why 
the world had turned grey there
for a bit.

isn’t that peculiar?


heather pound 2025

Photo by Harshil Gudka on Unsplash