Alftrude Ethel Newton was my mother 

Born 24th March 1918

Illegitimate child of Mabel 

And her naughty soldier boyfriend 

Who never returned from his war. 

She lived a life of ravaged emotions

And, eventually, ravaged synapses,

Lit up by daily trips to the bookies 

And nights at the bingo. 

She aimed to please. 

She always kept 

A bunch 

Of plastic 

Daffodils 

On

The

Window

Sill.

The day she died

They summoned me

"The Home"

I made the journey

Arrived too late 

Sat for a while with her empty body

Thoughts like slugs avoiding salt

Returned to my empty house

My empty life

Of which I was so proud.

I said I didn't love her

(Often) 

But,

If love is acceptance

If love is gratitude 

If love is forgiveness 

If love is "I see you "

Then I did and I do.