Louise M. Hart
Your body betrays you
It is a ghost of its former self
A crumpled hand
Caresses a toiled brow
Not long now
Not long now
But, you are a warrior
The bearer of two
You have watched men
Come and go
Infants and oafs, in skin
Thinner than the curve of your lips
Narrower and shallower lives
Than the hips that bore me well
Mother, I love you so
I am joyous in your presence
I laugh and cry in equal measures
In bursts of simultaneous ebbs and flows of emotion
That sooth and reveal how I feel about you
You fill my days with thoughts
Rich and deep
Invade my dreams
Whilst in the froes of sleep
Mother, you made me
So, now, I shall make you
In words that rhyme eternal, wondrous and true
We watched the Big Man being shaved
My pocket containing ten pounds
With her illusory beard
But I bought 2 drinks, anyway
“It’s a beautiful thing,” I thought
“Sacrificing your hair for charity”
And the lamb remained in stillness
Like a 21st century Buddha
Whilst anxiety gripped me
Like a gynaecologist’s fist
From the bottom of my empty pocket
To the nicotine tips of my conscience
My Mother and I had argued, you see
Before I left home
So I fooled myself that I wasn’t all bad-
Pneuma in a cage of beer and cigarette smoke
But smiled, like Satan’s symbiotic sister
Until Patrick walked me to the bus
And my smiles became tears, I didn’t shed
Today is Mothers Day, the day when British people celebrate and honour their Mothers. Thus, I present for you a poem about the complexities of a daughter’s love for her Mother.
Mother, you personify the best and worst
Of nature’s universe.
You bore me naked
Then you covered me.
You proclaimed my existence to be serendipitous-
Until I ran out of luck.
You nurtured a seed
Which developed like a weed
Refusing to flower
Into a grown-up.
And, thus, I destroyed the bloom of my own exterior
In order to make me feel nearer to you
Than to being alone.
You filled my tears with smiles
Every cry presenting as need.
And, now, I inhale the air
Liking a choking mist
My existence shortened by each deadly hiss
Of lung penetration.
Mother, I like your soul
But, not your hair
I eat Mums, because I care.
Every Mothers Day, there will stand in my Mother’s house a vase of flowers bought by me. Love you, Mum. x