Look Mum, all fingers and thumbs. (Bumbling Poetry No.7)

Expressing love for one’s mother is not the most earth-shattering revelation is it? Well sometimes, even if something is obvious, the way in which it is said can hold as much worth as the sentiment.

This, for example, shows you some of the ways my mum cares for me:

Left to right- a note, the book that came with it, my kindle, and the cosy my mum knitted for it.

I wrote this poem a while ago, after we cleared the jungle that came with the house. I have no idea how many of these memories are based on reality, studying developmental psychology, I learnt how misplaced the clarity and resonance of childhood memories can be, however it’s all true for me. 

 

I fell backwards today, calloused fingers

Pushed into damp earth, anchoring stringy

Mint to terracotta, texture recalled

A hot day but a brother, too small to

Rough and tumble. I liked the garden centre

Because it had fish and garish figures

Of cherubs and lions. In my mind’s eye

It was always pansies, bags of cement

And compost. At home, we knelt at elbows

In boys’ jeans, there were no make-up lessons,

You showed instead how to create and tend.

Fidgeting beside calm competence, Free

Vibrant gems from polystyrene cells, Surround

The snap dragons with cheeky fans, yellow

Tongues protruding from every velvet face.

I stayed out for the magic tricks: there was

A nervous plant that fled from touch, I whispered

The same lullabies you sang to sooth me,

Reassured at finding a fear at least

As bad as mine. There were horrors out there

Too, Squealing at a caterpillar set

Upon by ants, you gravely supplied me

An emergency twig. Together, saving

A tiny life from the swarm. You patiently

Tended all wounds; Winded, doing gymnastics

On the trampette, Angry allergies to

Most things bright and beautiful, I loved the

Poor, put-upon rabbit so hard, that she

Furrowed my chest. Facing a new and empty

World behind my house, still with the fear and

Allergies, At least I know to get dirt underneath

My fingernails. Bedding and tucking-in

Precious threads to you. A spell to stop the ebb.

 

Happy mother’s day everyone, just when you thought this blog couldn’t get any more twee.