Methought

25) Mamma's walking away...

i

will not

let myself be

swallowed by sorrow.

(what a bad habit that was

but sometimes it tasted so sweet)

i remember the cloud

of hydrangeas

at the bottom of the garden,

and the fork of cherry blossoms

spearing the sky -

pink on blue on black branches

rooted deep beneath the snow.

the bird bath

the colour of red brick,

balanced, turning green

then mamma scrubs it

clean as a whistle -

the birds, they whistle

(come rain or shine)

they echo the patter

of rain on windowsills windowpanes

when the clouds have passed

and there is momentary silence -

save the drip-drop of leaves

a pause. and a whistle,

shrill, pierces.

and the soil is pure

opulence.

the sun hangs back,

letting it all sink in

just for a bit, (yes, that's fine,

that's very fine.)

a wind whistles through the bamboo -

mary's lost in india

in the fire

yellow skin, why oh why

ugly and sullen

the robin the robin

and the dream:

leaves large as the little girl

mamma's wandering

looking wandering looking

walking away

why oh why oh

now.

mary cries

child's tears

(awake) before the flame.

the fear i felt it i felt it

i

(12th July 2014)