Forget-me-not

With an abiding glint of love in her faded eyes, 
Brown eyes that inhabit my dreams, spark my memories,
My mother has dementia, a cross for us to bear
So saith her silver-tinted hair. She laboured for our family.
With her handbag gripped in her laughing lap,
She still smiles at my silly jokes and repartee 
We share so many ways yet she's the opposite of me:
Freer, grander, more baroque, a heroine of WW2
The clear-eyed protector of my younger days
My sanctuary and my accomplice. A rebel with a cause.
Patient with all my mistakes. Loving her children, 
The tenderest, my brother, Pete, who died, young.

 

 

◄ Call it dreaming

Manchester ►

Comments

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John Marks

Thu 19th Dec 2019 22:06

Thank you Mark. I'd like to wish you a happy Yuletide and New Year. You express so well the dilemma that has afflicted humanity since Homer. You call it a " tragedy yet a blessing - depending on how charitable one felt about the infliction of nature's whims on our fragile minds and bodies." Why do the wicked prosper? Why do the innocent suffer? GM Hopkins in one of his terrible sonnets asks God:
"Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?" Answer was there none.
John

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M.C. Newberry

Tue 17th Dec 2019 15:13

Touching and true in its depiction of the human experience across
the years that life allows us. My own mother suffered but was also
lucid at times in the months approaching her death. A tragedy yet
a blessing - depending on how charitable one felt about the
infliction of nature's whims on our fragile minds and bodies.

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