My Mum

My Mum

[Part of September Poem a Day 2023]

We had a conversation before you died

--

about a fruit bowl,
chandelier,
your father,
your childhood
and I quietly thanked you,
for the graceful strength
with which
you held mine.
I knew you could go
in peace,
quietly.
Folk say grief eases with time,
that you'll no longer cry,
loss subsides
but these moments,
those moments -
they amount,
they're unforgettable,
like thimbles my daughter now collects,
she rests them on a display case in her room,
wooden, handmade,
once yours,
the way I decorate my home,
my safety, a harbour,
once, and first and foremost,
yours,
and all the little things
which remind me of you,
Palma Violets,
varicose veins,
nude heels,
cheek kisses,
dancing,
gardens,
perms and silkies.
This is it -
how love works,
distills,
perhaps a thread,
a long vine
that roots,
when it roots,
and never,
no, she never
comes loose.