It's lunchtime in the nursing home.
"Not enough salt",you say.
"They never put enough salt on."
Suspended in twilight,neither dead nor alive,
frozen in a time that isn't mine.
"You're not my daughter",you say.
We sit on the promenade watching giant ships.
"My father works on the Mersey",you say.
"...skipper of a survey launch,out in all weathers.
You're not my daughter."
You slip a tiny hand in mine,
like a small child about to cross the road.
I am your mother for now.
Yet I'll always be
who you say I'm not.
Heartbreaking. I love this.
ReplyDeleteWow, you've brought some powerful stuff to the blogosphere tonight!! Love it all xxx
ReplyDeletegood at catching the simultaneous world we live in when "being" with the demented...i especially like the simplicity of your least verse..and the "frozen in a time that isn't mine" line
ReplyDeleteRather lovely, ta.
ReplyDeleteI like this...!
ReplyDelete