The Moon and my Mother

Six Years Passed...

THE MOON AND MY MOTHER 

We sat by the river, picking garnets out of pomegranates

Wishing, under the moon, that the first steps I took

Under the birch tree could be retraced-

Like a silver map through time. 

And we could know that the spiders that watched

Had no malice

And the wolves creeping behind the trees

Were not hungry. 

That by the river, under the moon,

The world held us.

And my little feet knew 

The tickle

Was nothing more

Than a lady bird going home. 

Ave Maria

Thank  you Mother.

Thank you Jenny. 

© Siofra O’Donovan, 2 August 2018

Written on the last day

of my mother’s life

on earth. 

Remembering the seeds of the pomegranate, the ashes, the dust. The mayhem. Dishes flying across the kitchen. The compassion. The pearls. The diamond. The rage at apron strings. The Russian nanny. The piano, the Chanson Triste. The path out of here, through fire. The ashes, the dust. The ashes gone to the sea. No grave to tend to. The compassion, the rage. Thank you Mother, Mum, Muv, Jenny, Jennifer-Anne. For everything. We miss you. RIP.