The Day of Leaving.
I have gone to my mother in a dream so many times
She’s always in a house that is ephemeral
A house I can’t define because it has no structure
Just sunlight brown ...some dowdy kind of flowers
Lingering.
She was my mother .
And now ...she’s gone.
Not always easy to accept .
In the beginning...she was everything.
I loved her .
I stood beside green apple trees and cried
...that I might lose her..
She might be gone...
I feared her loss ..
...the day she packed her bags to leave
But then came back because I hung onto her arm
And wailed her not to go !
Mauve damsons hanging down along the walk.
Must have been summer.
I longed for her to put her apron down and talk to me.
She had no time for that ... was in the kitchen....
Ironing.
I was a chatterbox
I slipped out of the window ... found a friend
Who waited for my coming.
The day of leaving ,
The severance was hard ..
It was the saddest thing to do.
It was abscission but...
They said I had to go.
And ...
She had others left to care for.
I packed my Bush Transistor ...some poetry and clothes
And closed the door on Orwell Rd.
I longed for love.
Kristine Byrne
August 2012..