NaPoWriMo #10 Mother

Jewelers Tissue Paper

Jewelers Tissue Paper (Photo credit: Premier Packaging)



I lead you,


as I can, into the shop.

We find a wooden chair, by the glass topped counter tempting

with wares in cashmere, linen, silk.

In the shadowed space, young Mr. Neville

rubs ringed hands, and fingers socks.

We take six pairs. ‘I have this,’ he says,

reverently unwrapping silver tissue paper

to reveal a sliver of paisley silk.

Just the thing for a gentleman to breakfast in.’

You stroke it longingly as I pay,

but know it’s lustre will be lost

under cereal, toast crumbs and drips of tea.

Maybe, if he get’s better…’ you say,

and I agree, but know he won’t. Outside,

as dusk sucks the light from day,

I wonder when I became

the one to lean on –

that imperceptible shift.

I watch you


crowds of giggling teenage girls.

Loud, brash, nearly dressed in acid colour:

rhinestone rock motifs: skinny jeaned

or spindle legged in tartan tights:

ladders reaching sky-high denim skirts.

Mobiles clutched to ears, shrieking, What!

Omigod! That’s mad! Wicked! You’re so bad!

They swagger on insensible and in the calm

that spreads behind them like a bridal train

your hand finds mine, you lean on me.

I could explain, tell you, as we make our way,

that they’re just kids as once we were;

you the flapper, me the hippy-chick.

But what’s the point…You and I.

We’ve forgotten how it feels

to still have dreams

and time.


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