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MOTHER'S DAY 2020
This year was different.
The day before, in the supermarket
I join the carefully separated shoppers
with sheafs of chrysanthemums
in the tops of their trolleys
above the boxes of chocolates.
It feels like Christmas eve:
the tone is festive,
anticipatory.
Women in mid-life manoevre trolleys deftly,
scanning their lists with practised eyes.
The seafood counter’s busy.
Fathers with sons stride past un-trolleyed,
intent on getting in and out,
or stand in checkout lines with just
Mum’s favourite sweets in hand.
‘That’ll do.’ Relieved.
Me? I gather my Saturday papers,
my favourite bread, and see
the packaged chocolate cakes,
a printed icing slab on top:
‘Happy Mother’s Day’–
and find my eyes brimful.
My mum is a long time gone–
over thirty years ago.
How can it hurt so much?
I furtively wipe my eyes
and head towards the fruit.
Later, I head back against the flow,
and defiantly pick up
one of the chocolate cakes
festooned with fondant love.
It is unexpectedly heavy.
I’ll share it with my kids.
In the car I let the tears flow.
How life continues to surprise us.
Grief has no timetable,
no neat ending.
But salt water’s always healing.
I wipe my eyes again and feel
the sunlight warm me
through the windscreen,
snug in my driver’s seat,
grown up again. Mostly.
This year was different.
The day before, in the supermarket
I join the carefully separated shoppers
with sheafs of chrysanthemums
in the tops of their trolleys
above the boxes of chocolates.
It feels like Christmas eve:
the tone is festive,
anticipatory.
Women in mid-life manoevre trolleys deftly,
scanning their lists with practised eyes.
The seafood counter’s busy.
Fathers with sons stride past un-trolleyed,
intent on getting in and out,
or stand in checkout lines with just
Mum’s favourite sweets in hand.
‘That’ll do.’ Relieved.
Me? I gather my Saturday papers,
my favourite bread, and see
the packaged chocolate cakes,
a printed icing slab on top:
‘Happy Mother’s Day’–
and find my eyes brimful.
My mum is a long time gone–
over thirty years ago.
How can it hurt so much?
I furtively wipe my eyes
and head towards the fruit.
Later, I head back against the flow,
and defiantly pick up
one of the chocolate cakes
festooned with fondant love.
It is unexpectedly heavy.
I’ll share it with my kids.
In the car I let the tears flow.
How life continues to surprise us.
Grief has no timetable,
no neat ending.
But salt water’s always healing.
I wipe my eyes again and feel
the sunlight warm me
through the windscreen,
snug in my driver’s seat,
grown up again. Mostly.