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”.
January 6, 2019 at 5:52 pm
Reblogged this on antony owen poetry.