Ann
To roses and castles
her narrowboat sails
on the slow canal
through industrial vales.
In her deep garden
the flowers explode
and the little fat Buddha
enlightens the road.
In the sad hospice
her candle is bright:
she nurses the sick
on their way into night.
On maternity wards
she keeps a tight ship:
little babies delivered –
like kind words from her lips.
Her needles are clicking
like a clockwork machine,
she tucks up the Teddy:
the peace of sweet dreams.
Her cups of Earl Grey,
her Dutch stewing steak
a cigarette on the step
when it’s time for a break.
She raises two boys
with capable hands,
in a town by the sea,
the docks and the sand.
A child with a fever,
her presence so bright:
my demons dissolved
as she wished me goodnight.
To roses and castles
my mum has sailed away:
like the metalwork’s colours
she still brightens my days.
