Author: heatherpound

i was born with north american english
spoken in my ears, flowing from my tongue
and ‘homely’ was a word only whispered 
from the side of mouths, quiet. 

“that’s a rather homely baby,” 
is not a phrase i would have ever said,
a comment unkind about the face 
or appearance of another.

so, the first time someone in another country
effusively said, “your house is so homely!” 
i was completely confused, but realized
offence was never meant. 

and years before, after my first return to the islands 
after visiting ‘back home,’ we popped up the road 
to say hello to dear fijian friends.
“you’ve gone fat!” was declared with welcoming
hug and kiss upon the cheek

and sensing my confusion, the speaker swiftly said, 
“no, no, your family was happy to see you. 
they fed you well and that is good. we wouldn’t think 
they really loved you otherwise.” and i later learned 
that a flirty word called to someone else passing by
actually meant ‘fat.’ (i know of multiple marriages 
that eventually sparked from this)

so even now, in a land that is my home 
but wasn’t mine from birth, 
i control my face and habitually pause 
when i’m not sure what was meant. 

this limits me from winning 
the odd potential fight,
but is a recipe for peace
and more friends than enemies.

	—take everyone with a grain of salt 

heather pound 2026

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

when you find yourself 
in a battle fierce
consuming your bandwidth,
constant in thoughts
overthinking on overdrive,
ask yourself a couple of things:

what part of me 
is leading this fight? 
a portion unhealed, 
ensuing from a place of pain?
or an intentional, mindful self, 
my chosen values to guide the way?

and who am i fighting for? 
a version of me that wasn't able 
to right a similar wrong, desperately 
longing  to try again? or the actual subject,
the issue, right here, right now in this?

because nuances always matter
in how you approach these things,
one from a place of freedom:
aware, considered, controlled.
the other relentlessly, harmfully fuelled.
a whirlwind of pain. 

heather pound 2026

Photo by svklimkin on Unsplash

there was a time when it felt as if
someone else wrote the story
that was your very own life
and created with harsh words cruel
pictures of who you were

indicating the flaws that were theirs 
were actually yours,
and you knew this was unfair, untrue
but these words, they were frequent
and slowly began to 
           seep
           beneath 
           your skin,
           regardless

and even through you resisted so hard,
at times they made their way 
right through your beating heart. 

this image that someone else penned 
           has lingered
and in your most vulnerable of moments
you still carry the taint
of hurtful, projected words 

but let me tell you this,
you were not the one 
who held the pen.
you were never the one who 
formed those dreadful phrases
or wrote distorted words.

you were simply there
           targeted. 

and now what you can do
is to pick up the pen
and write anything at all that you choose.
           a story that’s yours
and absolutely should have been yours
           all along

Photo by DaYsO on Unsplash

Go ahead, just bring YOU.

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+