-Anjum Wasir Dar

 

 

Whither I Go Ye Know

Ten years since
my mother died
still seems like yesterday
in the midst of life
we are in death and oh Lord
don’t I know it even now when
blooms are bursting, pollen is
flying through the world
without end Amen
though I’m not sure
about without end
nor whom may we seek
for succor.

-Gregory Luce

Here is a photo of my late mam who died of Cancer in 1997. She is on the mobility scooter. The other woman is my late Nanna.

I Watch Athletics With My Mam

All house mirrors have been removed.
I sit on her soft bed, rest an arm
on a spare pillow. Mum’s pillows

stack behind her as we watch a
tv placed where her dress mirror stood.
Once she cried as her hair fell out.
She cried as she gained each pound weight

because she takes the chemicals
to stop her dying, stop the spread.
Once she was ‘petite’, now Mum’s fat
jowls, bingo wings slop on the bed.

Together we watch lithe bodies,
sharp muscle tone dash for the end.
Her home is spotless, a show home.
Every day we polish, scrub,

vacuum, she wants it welcoming.
She nods off half way through the
100 metres, I soft clap
the winner as she would have done.

I remember good times, and smile
at her laughter, gleam in her eyes
when she sees another winner
dash over the race finish line.

Meanwhile, she looks forward to Oakwell,
a new fan of Barnsley FC.
I never go as I don’t like
football, regret my selfishness

and time not enjoying her life.
She will sit in her hired wheelchair
yell and clap at their confidence,
vitality, their will to win.

-Paul Brookes (Previously published by the late Jamie Dedes on “The Poet By Day”, 2019.