Sunday, April 15, 2018

Kit Kelen #835 - she


835
she

who had supernatural powers
who knew what Christmas wanted
what naughtiness was/was not
who said 'when your father gets home'

she who was a step ahead
could spell every word before you
and we could add things up together

who could hear a joint being rolled a suburb away
she of preternatural olfaction
prognosticator of clouds

whose grandfather was a particular greatness
founder, benefactor

hems up
took in, let out
she of the sewing machine

now of the blank empty stare

who was always ahead of the game
eyes ears

and in the garden
drawn by dog
or round the block

who never swam
not in my life
who loafed around in a stain
and blamed the beach for glare

she of the early hours
and the Sunday sleep in
pancakes too

of roses and thornstuck
of the broken glass through thong
in the high grass should have been mown
and in the surgery waiting, with blood

and me there, with the needle, run off
and later so patient, having been told
no one could see I'd been done

she of wise saws, melodious snatches
and lyrics lost
first among princesses once

pyjama selector - o intimate of mine

she of the magical inklings
of infinite understanding
knower of pains
font of remedies
Mercurochrome she
of the great household health crises
blood poisoning
and tomaine

she of the tribe survived

depression minded
suspicious milk was watered
snow droppers or anyone
could strip your line

who'd never trust a tradesman
she of the locks changed later
and again and again
of the will re-written
she with the evil solicitor

of the secret hysterectomy

of mercy mild once
and Irish inwardly
who sent me to the Church of England scripture
so as to avoid persecution

of growing pains detected
of 'you'll grow out of it'
'never tell anyone your private business'

whose head was full of paintings
but she gave it all away
for me, for us
as if for a cause

who could burn water
whose pizza was secretly given the dog
and someone caught redhanded

she of the Sarah Lea Black Forest reputation
and cigarettes given up
just like that

she
of mustn't excite the heart-attack uncle
of the fish fingers, chips
of the steak
and freezer full

she, one of us, once
and the story still telling

she never missed the Scotch
her brothers brought each year for tribute
till one Christmas they asked for a drink

she
whose eyes were before all others
whose soul was yours once
hers your unbelief

she
helpless
who forsakes me now

whom from once nothing could ever be hidden
all safe
safe with her
to be here
home

3 comments:

  1. I so seriously love this poem! I love everything about it!

    ReplyDelete
  2. stay tuned for the Book of Mum

    ReplyDelete
  3. what wonderful words and pictures

    ReplyDelete

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