The Sanctum of Sanity

                           Letter to my Mother

                        

                      

Mother,

My new born child,

kindled shaped and

fired in your love,

is

steering me back,

through channels

of ungrateful

adolesence.

Past stormy days

of alternating mood.

Past days when

I, in vampire mode

devoured your love’s

eternal patience,

or,

as an angel from

a Christmas play

all paper wings,

crept nearer for

the stroke of

loving hands

upon his neck,

back,

back.

To days when

memory is nothing,

but the knowledge

that once,

like mine,

your body stooped

to scoop a crying

infant to your breast.

And sang in all its

joy when tiny fingers

found your hair,

or

balled themselves to

rub the sleep from

eyes, the crying

‘whys’ of which,

you comforted.

For those years then,

where memories

are yours.

Thank you.

© James Rainsford

Posted in response to the Sunday poetry prompt on One Stop Poetry For 8th May.

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