My mother’s scarves
She wore them well
Candy colours ..autumn leaves...
Her scarves ..withered away
Dresses ...cream ..golden ...or blue
Shoes polished to a shine
Her blouses worn tucked in
My mother had a style
But she and it no longer are around.
The house no longer is.
It is a block of flats
Just the name Brooklawn...still exists.
Each ornament has disappeared towards the edges of the world
Books tossed into a Peking hole deep in the ground..
The savagery of time has sucked in every aspect of that past
The voices gone and lost
The rooms where we all sat pulled down
To rising dust
My mother’s scarves a floating memory
Of who she was.
Kristine Byrne
2012