Memory <br />(like Winter) <br /> <br />perfectly preserves it <br /> <br />as if it were a freeze frame <br />in a movie <br /> <br />one could step into <br />& <br />out of <br /> <br />our backyard <br />Me & my Mam wringing out the clothes <br />with the water dripping into the tinbath <br />underneath <br />the plips & plops of droplets <br />magnified by water. <br /> <br />I’d feed the clothes into the rollers <br />minding not to get my fingers caught. <br /> <br />and she like a torturer <br />with a rack <br />wrung the clothes dry until they talked <br /> <br />& came screaming out the other side <br /> <br />all crisp ‘n’ flat ’n even. <br /> <br />My tiny hands that could even budge it on my own <br /> <br />would hold on to hers <br />(powerful & strong) <br /> <br />utterly convinced I was <br />helping her <br />with all my puny strength. <br /> <br />“Oh, that’s my son...what a fine <br />big strong man you’ve become! ” <br /> <br />And she’d never tell me I was <br />merely in the way. <br /> <br />then she’d slap me playfully <br />on the bum <br />and tell me to run away and play: <br /> <br />“That’s a good boy... <br />. ..you can help Mammy <br />another day.” <br /> <br />The terrible cold <br />froze the clothes <br /> <br />into a grotesque mime <br />on the line <br /> <br />& I’d be crying <br />complaining: <br /> <br />“I can’t feel my hands <br />...can’t feel my hands! ! ” <br /> <br />And she’d continue <br />on her own <br /> <br />turning the wheel <br />whether it be Winter <br />or Summer <br /> <br />and nappies grew on the line <br />& she’d be <br /> <br />pregnant one more time <br /> <br />while inside the house <br />the last new baby was crying. <br /> <br />“One day at a time <br />...sweet Jesus! ! ! ! ! ! ” <br />she sang. <br /> <br />and just got on with <br />being our Mam.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wheel-the-wheel-the-wheel-the-wheel-it-turns-round/
