a poem (for my mother)

Both my parents passed away in the last year and a half or so. At the moment I’m doing some involving work to clear up parts of their estate, which is requiring me to be at the old house every day, and sell or shift bits and pieces of their lives. It gets very old, as an activity, quite quickly.

Just now I came across this poem in the archive collection that I’m cleaning up. It was written in July, 2019 just a couple of days after she died.

Here’s to Magdalena

~

did you know
that people came
from sydney?

walking past on the footpath
they stopped
to tell me

these were the nicest roses
the prettiest
that they had seen
in all
of the town

my mother’s garden
was
the heart of her

roses perhaps
were the soul

the mystery of
and her success in producing
an orchid spray
was a bursting
of pride

play!

play!

get your bat
and ball

play

the backyard
just in front
of the washing line
was a cricket pitch

perpetually waiting

sometimes
it waited
for years
as generations grew
and transformed
from babies
into cricketers

but
in her memory
a game was played
every day

and she
was a warm place
for children

schnitzel
(deep fried)
is ready

creamy potato and egg
salad
is on the way

extend the table
for the grown ups

put the little ones
over there

take the meat
to the men
to cook on the barbeque

is everyone
here?

who
is missing?

she has always wanted
everyone
to be here

in her garden
at her dinner table

surrounding her

at home

~