Wednesday, 29 January 2014



Mother and child,
My snowdrops and daffodils,
Echo of my past,
Wild at heart, mother and

The monthly cycle of fairies on bicycles it seems ride through my garden. Creating havoc.
Was it born to be wild? Was I? I remember mother and child beside the sea, not the lake, of indecision. Oh Mum, why did you not leave? Why did you not leave and take me with you?

Now I return to the sea, to the sea to drown in the memories of that moment. My eyes are wide open at the blue. The bus stop is still there. The shelter long gone. The shelter where we sat, mother and child, for such a long time. We sat the whole day through, it seemed. A time long enough for salutary lessons. It seems. Now, but then?

Then, long enough for even the babble of this wild child to cease. Long enough for every boat to bring its harvest into port. I watched them one by one find harbour, slip by the walls toward comfort. Far out, the sun began to caress the waves. Long enough for your eyes, Mum, to be full like cups of rainwater. Where was your comfort.

'Mum, Mum,' I whispered, too cowed by your sadness to approach. Too scared by your expression to even offer the hugs we always gave freely.

Finally, you let out a sigh to best a foghorn. Your face turned to me. You wore that smile. You stood up. 'This day Gabby, shorter than the rest but never ending, hey?' I blinked. Not comprehending, not then.

You held out your hand and we walked away. Mother and Child. I look along the promenade. There we go, into the future. But only mine. Only mine.

Copyright Gabrielle Goldsmith 2014.

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