mummy                                          

                                   My poem for Mother’s Day:

 

                                                   V I S I T

 

                                      Shall I paint her portrait

                         Or keep it in pieces, dim and dark undone;

                              Shall I put together a jigsaw figure

                          Who has gone to pray in the Himalayas

                       And presently will return, as we were told?

 

                             She must feel cold on a blue glacier.

 

                                           But I remember,

                                      She was warm and frail

                            Beautifully familiar on a carry- chair

                         Lifted on dark strong porter’s shoulders

                                  To the fearful steaming train.

 

                           Up the quick flight of steps to visit her –

                    The apartment was the same, the curtains hung

                             The same fan spun; our heart beats

                       Filled the empty room with promise and fear.

 

                                Quietly a voice behind intoned:

                                ‘She has gone to the Himalayas’,

 

                                 And through the curtains shone

                                        A steady summer’s sun

                                        And on the counterpane

                                                 A blue glacier.

mummy 2

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