Without you, Mother: A poem 

I can break a chair in anger 

I can turn off the telly in despair 

I can take a walk ruing loneliness 

My emotions can become a nuisance 

I can count my pennies like a miser 

I can hear the phone ring and not answer 

These rooms are always so mysterious 

And their treachery can be treated with hysterics 

I don’t panic when I feel I’ve done nothing 

Nothing worthwhile, other than just waiting 

I can think of fantasies to my liking 

And feel disillusioned that they are no icing 

I can trash the leaders and simmer 

Yet, I can take on all the misery and not whimper 

For, there are golden threads sewn in my memory 

A Remembrance Day each day with a story 

I fold my hands in thanks at that glory 

At the cusp of joy and sorrow like a sweet and sour curry 

This celebrating solemn cortege of thoughts moving bravely 

with the knowledge that nothing makes up for your absence. Surely. 

And this conversation is never dry, but still feels empty 

Without you, Mother