You do and do, you do and do
Forever white stilettò shoe
In which you have lived
For seventy years, gave and gived
Always able to whip up food
Mummy, I have had to live up to you
Winged torso, halo hair
Blood of ages, breath of care
Pink saints pleated into your skirt
Shielding torment, halving hurt
Turning pain into something new.
On a green hill, down an empty lane
Morris dancers on an English grave.
I thought every woman I loved was you
Well, no not every
Just the one, the beam of light
An Electra laser that cut the night
Mummy she was the spit of you
A Rorschach Nefertiti, Ikea
The overblown bluff of hair
We all missed her...
Forgive me for talking back to you
When nursing me back, like the eighties
West coast Sapphos did
For our brothers with the HIV.
With every twist of your deformed foot
In Mother Teresa’s moccasin shoe
You tended to my broken heart
If you tended one, you tended two.
In my heart and eye, eye, eye
I see you at the cooker, then
Flying o’er the Calder Valley
Calling Mother Nature stood
At the delta of the flood.
Mummy when I make it through
The yawning V of each day
I hear half the villagers say
She’s a chip off the old block
Mummy, Mummy, what luck, what luck.
Note for the Reader: This poem is for all intent and purposes credited as a response to and forever indebted: 1 to the unwavering love of my Mum who swings me with love eternally
2 to the bravery of Sylvia Plath and her poem ‘Daddy’
I am a writer from Lancashire.
I spend a lot of my time raising my daughter and hanging out with my family.
I also do my own creative writing and help people who are stuck for words.
That’s it really. Those two things. It’s a nice life.
If you need words, do the write thing, get in touch and hire a writer.