A new memory for Mothers’ Day


You are alive still –

just the other day –

a new memory.

Coming home,

hand in hand

with my son

to your door.

The crazy paving

lay beneath our feet

as we stepped onto

the marble topped

granite steps.

Waiting at the caravan door,

with delightful anticipation,

we hear your quickening steps

and there you are:

Bursting with excitement,

blooming with emotion

to have and hold your

daughter and grandson.

Dad is behind you

reserved with pride and pleasure.

Your embrace is the warmest:

offering comfort that can

be found nowhere else.

We chat, play, laugh,

eat, walk, cry, and share

until evening comes.

Tashi settles in his cot,

And I’m in my old bed.

The chill damp air is familiar

and strangely reassuring.

Dad wipes the condensation

from the windows then retires.

When Tashi wakes for an early feed,

you come and join us, taking joy

in watching my love for him.

I might be a mother now, but

you are mine still and you pop

to the stove to warm me some milk.

We return to sleep and when I awake

I’m heartened to have this new memory,

crafted from my childhood impressions,

bringing you back to life with me

again.

(For my mother Sylvia Kempton)

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