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