FOR MY MOTHER, WHO I CAN NO LONGER HOLD
Feb 04, 2021
1 minute
Poem by Steve Head
Illustration by Simona De Leo
A clutched thumb and I fall to pieces.Just about hold it together on the surface.Keeping up appearances, like it's all okay,just a blip on the radar, a short passing phase,that we'll look back on and laugh at.Those misshapen days, when we satat both ends of a roomand touched nothing.Mapped paths through the garden,like scouting a maze. Sterilised giftsbefore handing them over, whileangling necks in peculiar ways.
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