when the kids left I was bereft and had to write to say – at least in a journal anyway – ‘it was me who made all the mess in truth – yet still, the neighbours bang on about noise
I was young – unprepared – & terrified – determined, well, less lest ..’ and they wrote my history their way, eavesdropping eavesdroppers’ hear say
they’re not ready for the confessions yet
eulogies unearth and beget
It wasn’t until she was flesh before ash
before the final clank and pall
the very final curtain call
I truly ‘got’ my own mother at all
Forgive your own – they cannot know
not yet –
what not yet begets
Cherry Coombe 