And on that last Mothers Day, <br />when the birch leaves <br />fluttered pale gold, <br />and the magpies chortled <br />in the garden, <br />and the children gathered <br />round the big bed <br />clutching the presents <br />(all edible) <br />that they knew you’d share, <br /> <br />You looked into their eager faces <br />and their cards (hand made) <br />and said: <br />‘I’m so lucky. <br />So lucky to have <br />my lovely family all around me’. <br /> <br />And your eyes sank deep in their bank of pillows, <br />your back bent into a question mark, <br />your knees making a tent of the doona. <br /> <br />The books that lined your room, <br />you’d read again and again: <br />‘I’ve usually forgotten what happens, <br />but they’re always pleasantly familiar’. <br /> <br />The children opened the sugared almonds <br />(your favorites for as long as I can remember) <br />You handed them round the circle, <br />sucking yours gingerly: <br />‘Don’t want to break these teeth <br />now that Malcolm’s not round to fix them’. <br /> <br />Eight weeks later <br />pneumonia allowed you a graceful exit. <br />It was your eighty eighth birthday.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mother-s-last-mothers-day/
