You still fill The same chair-sized space You ever did – Your chair has gone but I still see you stroll From room to room With the usual smile On your face Contemplating your next move Of aged-wickedness, I still hear your voice Laughing at something That’s tickled you, Something no doubt To share in the pub But never in chapel, I still feel your spirit watching Over us as we Inevitably pack away Your treasures Carefully hoarded Over long years. I still love you And miss you Dad and You still fill The same giant-sized role You ever did.
Facing Mother’s Day motherless
Is frankly unnerving:
You’ve gone, yet you’re still here,
You’re here, but you’re still there,
You cannot be seen or heard,
No hug, no touch,
No physical connection,
Existing in a third dimension.
And yet, and yet:
I see you smiling in my mind,
Laughing at a silly joke,
Wobbling across the room
Holding onto the back of the suite,
Not the steadiest on your feet!
I see you playing with your grandchildren
And great grandchildren,
Dancing with your sisters –
I see your love for all of us,
Then, just in that moment,
The sky is cloudless.
How the emotion of memories
Changes motherless to mothered,
How time and space are blurred,
Events and people intermingle,
The past morphs with today
And I can say ‘Happy Mother’s Day’.
Wood stacked by the fire,
Candles on the hearth
Create shadows that evoke stories,
The rattling of the poker,
Curtains closed, dinner cooking,
Fire-grazing, head in a book.
Warmth encircles the room
Promoting lethargy and insouciance,
A floatation chamber between two worlds
Recreating the past in the present.
I am comfortable.
I am home.