Love, Waiting, and New Beginnings: Hope Savage’s Intimate Celebration of Adoption.
Hope Savage’s poem Introductions (1) is a quiet, heart-stopping glimpse into the first meeting between her and her daughter before she came to live with them. It’s the kind of moment that lingers long after it passes — full of anticipation, tenderness, and the strange, electric weight of new beginnings.
Savage writes with a clarity that feels immediate and unpolished, but that’s the point. Her poetry doesn’t need heavy editing because it’s already been living in her mind, growing in pieces, waiting for release. In this poem, that release is a small miracle: a personal memory made universal, a private story that anyone who has waited, hoped, or loved can recognise.
At its heart, Introductions (1) is about the delicate intersection of joy and anxiety, hope and uncertainty. It’s about seeing someone for the first time and knowing that everything has changed. The poem doesn’t overstate this moment; it trusts in the quiet tension, the small gestures, and the unspoken emotions to carry it. That’s part of what gives Savage’s work its power — the honesty, the trust in the moment itself.
Savage has been writing sporadically for fifteen years, but in the last year she has approached poetry with purpose, exploring adoption, motherhood, and the small, profound moments that define family. She performs occasionally at open-mic nights around Liverpool, bringing the same warmth, humour, and heartfelt presence to her readings as she does to her writing.
Introductions (1) is a poem about love arriving gently but decisively. It’s about the courage to hope, the tenderness of meeting someone for the first time, and the quiet transformation that such a meeting can spark. In Savage’s hands, a single memory becomes a celebration — a reminder of how life’s smallest moments can carry the greatest weight.
Introductions (1)
We made a family
under blooming magnolia tree.
Placed hands on top of hands;
little to bigger to biggest.
A rock family
with pebbles for fingers.
Ice-cream bucket sandcastles
tapped out on the top
in morse code.
So many thank-you’s.
Thank you for playing,
thank you for catching me.
No need for thank-you’s,
she is thanks enough.
Running faster
than tiny legs can keep up
and ‘New Mummy’
shouted over and over
until the grandmas stare in horror.
I couldn’t love it more;
this new name I have been given.
