Out of reach
There is no language for us any more.
All those words that you knew,
That you hunted for crosswords,
They’re quiet and scarce,
And I’m totally clueless
And I look at the photos,
And I hear all the funny old ways,
And I feel like I can touch your skin
But I can’t.
RF
There’s a lot I could say about what’s going on around us
right now (about governments, about people’s behaviour, about fear and bravery
and everything in between). But I’m tired (aren’t you?). And there are lots of
people saying lots of things already so all my stuff can wait.
It’s Mother’s Day here (for another hour or so) so the above is
a poem I wrote after my Mum died in 2010 at the age of 86. I grieved for her for quite a few
years but now she feels very distant (like a story almost). Today, instead of
thinking about her particularly, I received Mother’s Day gifts from a precious
daughter, finished reading a good book, drank cups of tea and coffee, did a
crossword (joint effort), walked a dog, did a little gardening, watched some
TV, enjoyed my food, even drank a sherry. So, all in all, I pretty much was my
mother for a day. And it was a good day. I am always pretty efficient at appreciating
the small things (a good breakdown and recovery can do that to a person) but
today and all the days just now I am better at it than ever. For many reasons,
but partly because my father was a doctor, I can’t help but think about the medical
staff just now. We take them for granted too often. We reward so many of the
wrong people.
Anyway, let’s not get into that right now. Take care. Enjoy the
small things when you can. And share them.
x
7 comments:
I can't believe your mother has been gone for 10 years! It seems much more recent... Mine has been gone 15, and yes she's mainly a memory now with random spikes of real grief.
That sounds like a lovely day. And I agree about health care workers, and others who aren't able to "shelter in place" right now.
Stay well you two!
x
Rachel, it's funny, I was just thinking this whole thing might hopefully make all of us who come out the other side better at relishing the small things. Glad you had a nice day anyway, and here's to many more where that came from. x
Thanks for dropping in. As this goes on it might be necessary to get the old Poetry Bus back on the road, who knows? Not yet though, still adjusting...
Yes! Maybe I would actually start writing again if we did the old bus...
I have found it very hard to write with all the worry, and drama now, like it seems hardly necessary to write when the world is already so strange and scary. I am trying to get myself back to it, as I know it's worth it, especially now it's starting to become routine. There's a thing called pendemic - writer's writing through everything if that's of interest to either of ye.
I haven't been writing much for the past few years so 'not writing' is business as usual writing-wise for me... but for others yes, finding it hard to write is to be expected for many I think (especially if you suddenly have a lot more childcare on your hands - lovely and creative as that can be... at times...). I see a constant to-and-fro on Twitter ('use it as time to get on with a project' vs 'don't be hard on yourself, do what you can') and of course both are right, depending on the individual. The writing will come and some of it will be amazing, some will be terrible and some will just make us feel better for doing it.
My mindset is that I think we all need to keep in mind that if we are not (a) working in a healthcare or other care setting (including the home) or working in the food supply network, (b) ill/bereaved or (c) wracked with worry as we have no income and no support, then we are the lucky ones and we should do our best to say sane (and that is all). BBC 6 Music Breakfast Show with Lauren Laverne helps, I prescribe that to all :)
I like 'pendemic', by the way. Its time may come. Early days yet...
xx
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