"Hi, Mum...it's me"

“You remember," I say.
She doesn’t answer,
but I just carry on, anyway.

“Remember when I sat
on the oil-stove –
burnt my bum;
had to take a cushion
to sit on at school?

When that rabbit
bit my finger
at Auntie Sarah’s,
and I was wearing
my Sunday-best,
white lace gloves,
and there was blood
everywhere?

You remember,” I say.
She doesn’t answer
so I just carry on, anyway.

“When that thrush
flew down the chimney
in that B & B
you, me, Dad, and Sis
were staying at
in St.Leonards-on-Sea,
and you hid – terrified
beneath the bedclothes...”

This man, standing
with me now. The one
you married in the war;
the one you loved,
honoured, and obeyed;

the one’s cared for you
these last ten years...
washed and dressed you,
cooked, and cleaned
the house and wept
for you at night
when he’s tucked
you in bed;

you remember, I want
to say. Only...she doesn’t,
but he’ll just carry on...
anyway.