Beautiful poem from Lois Linkens
the back door stands open,
muddy footprints sketched in a scamper
over the coir mat,
earthy clumps scraped off small shoes
lie snuggled between the fibres.
grassy tangles trail from garden to kitchen,
kitchen to corridor,
corridor to shoe rack.
she sighs –
one of hansel’s worse ideas.
she’s the mother at the window,
where faded yellow curtains hang,
limply framing her weathered features
in the glassy reflection.
the early evening sun paints her face,
like a buttercup held under a smooth chin
by innocent fingers.
dusty rays illuminate
the murky rainbows
of glass cleaner and jay cloth.
mama, moving mouths murmur,
she picks at her dry skin,
red and flaky from rubber gloves and dish soap,
plastic cups and plates.
she has swapped smoking
lingerie for lullabies,
bottled perfume for baby powder,
naps for nappies.
mama, mama –
the shouts and flashes of life before
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