I wrote a poem and placed it your hands.
Around the poem I sketched many things,
a kingfisher on a branch of the tree of life,
images that will blaze in my heart forever.
Free at last after sixty grief-stricken years,
your dead, beaten up, broken down body
has departed, they cannot reach you now
as the Soul ascends to meet the ancestors.
Thank you dear mother for giving me life,
I am sorry that yours was filled with pain.
Thank you for gifting me poetry, patience
and the strength to stand beside sorrow.
Without a funeral, I must put pen to paper
as a fiery curtain sweeps across your stage.
I light a candle and whisper from the wings,
goodbye Dear Mother, please don’t cry.
© Deborah Gregory 2021
In the photo, I’m looking down in wonder at my new sister on my mother’s lap, which makes me around 18 months old.
Please find below a copy of my poem, “Dear Mother, Dear Mother” which I left with my mother – artist, I’m not! x