This is the original, longer version of a poem I wrote recently about my mother. The short version (see link below) was published on the Avbob Poetry website in December 2022.
For most of our lives
words were our weapons
you
the single mother
on the attack
and I
the only daughter
on the defense
a raging battle
between who
can get
the last word in
Now that your life
has almost reached a full stop
you can’t hear me at all
I measure my words carefully
but it’s too late
we continue to misunderstand one another
weighed down with hurt
an absence of logic
we repeat ourselves over and over
enunciating clearly
unable to grasp true meaning
both sides so wrong
when I was young
the only way you knew
how to express emotion
was through the food
you made for me
what amounted to love
very closely resembled caring
we both derived such satisfaction
and deep comfort
from eating together
the surprise of a new discovery
unusual combinations of flavours
sitting at table
was our common ground
a ceasefire
I will never forget
the wonder of what you made
pungent and bold
brimming with bonhomie and good health
spicy green bean bredie with pearled barley
clay baked chicken scented with thyme
an abundance of whole bulbs of roasted garlic
slices of polenta with charred corn and chunky tomato sauce
the most perfect fish and chips I have ever eaten
macaroni cheese light as a soufflé
topped with diced ripe tomatoes
torn basil and your signature garlic & lemon dressing
seeping through a lattice of bubbly cheese
The last time I saw you
you were reading
Homemaking for the Down-at-Heart
which is about a mother
losing her mind
and a daughter
who still has some space to express her love
you had almost reached the end
but not quite
when you stopped being able to cook
pouring brandy over pasta instead of olive oil
the rice inexplicably both cold and burnt
I mourned not only our lost meals
but how we can never
get the good times back again
sweet respite
spun in the ritual of summer
It was such a shock
that your innate practical sensibilities
could ever be undermined
your burgeoning creativity
bubbling over
ever since you were a newly wed
spectacular
perfectly honed
suddenly so lost in a sea of fright and forgetfulness
and now
that cancer
has you in its jaws again
food has become reduced to an obligation
parceled out in the hours between
the bare minimum required
I wish
I could make for you
a slice of sumptuous chicken pie
scented with cloves
thickened with sago
studded with hardboiled eggs
nestled under flaky sour cream pastry
or a green salad bursting with freshness
skeins of silky duck confit and tart cranberries
Everywhere I go
there’s this unceasing hum
of low level anxiety
that keeps breaking through
a dull pain
barely suppressed
This is how my body
is connected to yours
despite all the distances that separate us
all these complicated feelings
a deep dam of guilt
constant heart ache
bursts of frustration
inevitable regret
I shouldn’t be surprised
when you were lying on the operating table
no one ever told me how close to death you were
septicemia spreading like a forest fire
but I knew
This will be my way of homemaking
for the down-at-heart
finding a way to keep on
cooking
eating
living
finding a way to say
that love
however broken
is
somehow
the last word
Anna-Karien's Books, Cooks and Curiosities 