Abstract Space: Mother

Abstract Space: Mother

Mother of the raining in me
that falls slowly, imperceptibly around your ruined dreams
and through my realised dreams.
Mother of the sweeping plummeting birds
in the sky we walk under- you and I
in different worlds
Well it is snowing here, shining there
we know how the story goes
the pebbles you turn over in your hand
like regret that comes suddenly and lethally
knowing it is all too late
and you wear that apron
and put that pot on to boil
and you say you have rediscovered the poems of W.H Auden.

The immiserating power of tradition, of roles
of mother
doubles me over
here
I know-you know the story
so well
I wish I could give you time
I wish I had never been
if it means that you would have been
free.