A Poem for Ian

My beautiful Dad

I am not of your blood but you gave me your heart,

The best step-father I could have asked for.

You have been there my whole life

Constantly supporting me, caring for me

You have taught me a lot

Taught me how to read, how to write, how to be happy

Taught me how to become the woman I want to be

Always welcoming with open arms and a

“Hiya sweet pea, fancy a cup of tea?”

I cherish the time we have had together

and all the memories you have given me

Like when you took me on bike rides,

smiling as you pulled me in a buggy alongside you

Like how you would waltz me around the kitchen to jazzy music,

balancing me on your feet

You are my 11:11 and birthday cake wishes

Closing my eyes, I blow out the candles, wishing

Wishing we had more time

Wishing your terminal cancer could be cured

Wishing time could rewind, or at least stand still

Wishing I could somehow appreciate our time even more

There are no words that can describe the emptiness

I feel thinking of not having you in my life

And how soon that thought might become reality.

But I try not to buy into those thoughts and live in the moment

Just like you taught me.



Yes, you were my first

My first lesson in love

When we were in bed together, the world was quiet

Laying on our sides looking in each other’s eyes

Drinking each other in

Learning about your scars and marks,

memorising where your freckles

gently touched your nose

Your eyes, the colour of the hot pools in Reykjavík

I felt like there wasn’t enough time in the world

that I could spend looking into them

My hand, resting on your chest, would feel it rise and fall

Our fingers would intertwine, exploring

Your touch sent shivers down my spine

You were my life for nearly three years

My first everything

I thought I would always feel

what I felt looking into those blue eyes

But like the shade of your eyes,

you became ice cold

I had ignored all the warning signs, trusting you completely

I realised that I was in love with the idea of love

Not you


The Silent Women

As I stroll from room to room in the stately home

I pass the familiar faces in the paintings

I see every weekend

My job is to talk about the women in the pictures,

But I don’t even know their names

I call them ‘the Silent Women’

They’re always watching, never speaking

Their expressions are absent, haunting

They never cease to make my skin crawl

The paintings are titled and labelled

Unknown Lady’, ‘Mother of…’, ‘Beloved daughter of Sir…

The artists name is always given

Yet never the painted

The lavish, gold frames hold in their identity

As tightly as their corsets had held their bodies

Resembling the lives the women would have led

Over three centuries ago


Alexandra Evans is an exchange student from Liverpool John Moores University in the UK who is studying Poetry and English Literature at Southern Connecticut State University. She is currently pursuing a career in poetry and says she is so grateful to be a part of the Outrageous Fortune community.