For the Black Fems Rugby Club and My husbands Fight with MS
Three years now, this shadow’s danced beside him,
A storm with no warning, no playbook, no plea.
MS came sudden, stole ground from his stride—
But it didn’t know the fire I hold inside.
He found his footing where the cleats dig deep,
With the Black Fems, bold, where no one’s weak.
We hit the line like thunder cracks,
Skin like armor, hearts at our backs.
They call us fierce, too loud, too proud,
But we wear that truth like a battle shroud.
In mud and motion, we find our grace,
In bruised-up knees and a steady pace.
Some days, his legs betray their role,
Muscles like wires that forgot control.
But I lace my boots and rise up still—
My spine may shake, but not his will.
Each pass, each scrum, each cry of "Push!"
Echoes louder than the hush
Of doctor’s words or the sleepless nights,
'Cause here, I'm more than the silent fights.
I am tackled, yes, but never downed.
I’ve learned to fight on unsteady ground.
With sisters who carry me when I fall,
And celebrate me when I give my all.
Black Fems, we don’t just play—we prove.
That power is rhythm, resilience, and groove.
And I, with MS, still dance in this storm—
Unbroken. Unyielding. Reborn and reborn.
So bring the whistle, the bruises, the rain.
I'll meet it with laughter, love, and pain.
‘Cause on this field, I’ve come to see:
Even slowed, I run wild. Even broken, he is free