My Mother’s Pregnancy

 

Photo by Monique Laats on Pexels.com

 

I think of you in the Rhyl grey sky

pressing thread veins from your thighs

inside I was knotted into the calm audio

breaking through water like a kingfisher feeding.

 

I think of you watching kelp waves thickly falling

My Dad and you hugging it out stretching his cardigan

he was fretting about money, and you worried about me

what if I was like winter arriving too early and cold?

 

When I was born a smoke cloud came and went

they doused me in flannelette, you held me like silk

we are perfect in a single moment then never again

I was raised in a nicotine mist and working mans fog.

 

I think of my Mother missing her Mother long gone

it is time to stop living in Tru-print coloured photographs,

my mother is getting older to the point of bending like polaroids.

It is time to gather the bones of my Mothers pregnancy and

say what I shall not say “you were the kingfisher, starved”.