My Daughter and Other Angels

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sat, 18 Jan 2014
  • 3482 reads
15 comments
 
We discuss the Latin names of flowers –
the ones in Onslow Square she’d stopped 
to admire, en route to her appointment...
making small-talk, as best as one can 
with someone, so young, who’s dying; 
about wine glasses I’d bought for her
in Jasper Conran, a diary – gold-leaf
etched, with butterflies.
 
One good thing about the Royal Marsden,
it’s near so many posh shops; pricey, albeit, 
but a much needed diversion. Her sister – 
pale and distant; distant as those summer 
afternoons they’d shared by the River Lee...
bikes in tow, now playing, mindlessly,
with her phone – their dad, creating his own 
Appalachians, courtesy of the sugar, in its
little glass bowl, wishing he was any place
but here;
 
this small, Italian bistro – rain, streaking
the windows, and a candle, weeping
wax tears on a red and white checked cloth, 
and I think how good she looks in her coat; 
black always suited her so. Radiotherapy –
futile, as it was, in its death throes...History, 
soon, the daily trek on the train, when she’d  
fall asleep...dreaming of being free of all this.
 
Tucking into her calzone, she insists
she wouldn’t change a thing about her life; 
having cancer made her a stronger person, 
a better nurse, she maintains. How
she can think that way, beats me.
 
Do you remember, Sis, she asks, 
that Christmas Eve at The Old Sun,
when you dressed up as an angel? Thing was,
I did too. That humdinger of a row 
we had, and Mum said why not go
as a duo;  The Big and The Little
Angel, which we did, and we both
got free drinks?
 
We say, How could we forget? Especially
as the Big Angel was brought home – 
three sheets to the wind.
 
She wonders if...one day,
she’ll be a real angel. That would be cool, she said, 
and we could see she really meant it – heart,
and soul. 
 
I tell her, if god did exist, up there,
somewhere, as she supposed, and
he wanted her enough to take her 
away from us... if he knew, what was good
for him, he’d better make her the whole,
goddamn host!
Certificate 12
Poem
Love
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Bee on

This is wonderful, Tina. It's like looking through a window into collected memories of perfectly described scenes that tell the story. The words flow and rhyme with subtlety and I love the touches of humour that make it all the more down to earth and real. I liked the description of dad playing with the sugar, wishing to be any place else - and the 'rain streaking the windows, and a candle, weeping wax tears ...' those are really strong images. Stanza 4 - she must have had great strength to think and speak as she did. I'm sure that's why she continues to inspire you. I was a bit choked by the last stanza. Lovely poem!

 

 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

She did have an amazing strength...so much so that up until a few months before she died, she visited numerous hospices, giving talks to the residents on living with cancer, which she had done, so very admirably and bravely,  since she was first diagnosed at the age of nineteen.

Ever a source of inspiration, she surely is...not only to me, but to anyone who had the good fortune to know her. 

Thank you for your thoughts, Bee.  They mean much.

Tinasmiley

 

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

Onwards and upwards, Tina. A lot of nice touches in this poem full of poignant memories.

The mention of calzone reminds me of my son-in-law who doesn't like mushrooms; when he goes to an Italian restaurant he always orders a 'calzone senza funghi'.

Love, Luigi xxx 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thank you for your stirring words, Luigismiley.  

And thank you also for my Italian lesson. I can almost hear that phrase kind of lilting off your tongue.  My other half went to night school to try and master the language.  He's forgotten much of it now, but can still charm the birds right off of the trees when he recites just a couple of the phrases he still remembers. I can hear them in in my head, now...but I shan't attempt to write them downwink

Have a peaceful weekend, and thank you, again.

Love, Tina xxx

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Painful but somehow comforting to read.  You evoke the scene in the cafe so vividly.  So much humanity in this. 

Parson Thru

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, PT, for reading, and for sharing your thoughts.

Tina

 

 

Submitted by Yvonne Anderson on

Hauntingly full of love and loss that made me cry.  Your daughter sounds like a remarkable person.

Yvonne

Best wishes. Yvonne

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

My thanks to you, Yvonne.  And yes, she was.

Tina

 

Submitted by toshmc on

Really enjoyed reading this - such strong images throughout, and love the touch of humour, especially in the last stanza. Very strongly written and a lovely piece.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Much obliged to yousmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Much obliged to yousmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by hoalarg1 on

Another poem of great beauty. I really liked the way this flowed in prose-like fashion as this helped me to be closer to the sisters as if I was there in that restaurant. As the poem progresses you have made a painful and upsetting subject appear less so, giving me hope, making me see beyond the finite. Anybody who can achieve that has done very well indeed. Congratulations on the cherries. Adam

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Adam, my sincere thanks to you.  Not an easy subject to write about, but something I needed to put down on paper.  Your words mean a lot to me.

Tina

 

Submitted by The royster on

Hi Tina,   I cannot add anything to all of the above comments.  Bless you for being able to put this into such a powerful piece. A proud mum indeed.  Thank you.   Roy

 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Roy...indeed.

Tina