The white lilies you loved to sashay up to
lovingly with your silver trowel
like a knight in shining armour
come to their rescue- and your own – to build them up
in the rockery are gone for winter time mam
Back to the unseen underworld again to grow
imperceptible as the hands of a clock moving invisible.
They’ll return slender and full of grace as three Hail Marys!
Because, you said, we’re heathens now. I divorced your dad. I’ve been excommunicated
– for ‘ leaving the soul sod’.
This our shrine now – on winding Wins Hill!
And, it’s true to say we never went again.
With a bouquet of Judy garlands held
tender in her arms
the girl in her red dress skipped down the yellow brick road
for answers from the wizard of oz
with her third eye open .
In a blizzard of secrets, silences & lies
used to reverberate about her head
she’s been to see the truth of the things
and, laugh again too.
It’s not to see Alice through the coffin glass
she’s been – tho she damned you Hades that time. You gave us life and loved us in it.
For all it was turned upside – down & inside- out
We’re all still standing , Mam. – tall poppy syndrome notwithstanding !!
And, now raising our precious dead – I raise a cup of herbal tea to you
And leave out the last yellow rose for you
because you’d kindness in spades – my darling one.
I wish you’d had it returned by all you gave it to.
We are the brave bereaved
On this Halloween – as time runs out
A score if human more inhuman years
since I held your hand – across all Earth.
There’s a few jokey pushing up daisies as well -!
For nobody dies really.
We all good witches come back. – Time and Again!+
Especially you good woman if Offaly!
Nancy Carroll as – was
Not to make a mockery of such a Trojan woman as yourself.
The mender of hearts is everywhere tonight – for all left behind.
I’ll see you later in the garden
Dad too . Well. Whole. Able to show us his love. Not tage.
Hell call it cat- malojan , our reunion!
Queen of the castle up there you are!
I’m so very proud to be your daughter, Pat!
And, well- able to grow this poem in a soul-witching hour!
Tho all poems are a lifetime in the making
aren’t they – so creative mother of mine!!
For My Mother, Nancy, RIP