Poem Hunter
Mother Dying
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Mother Dying

We talked all day
Each Saturday
For many months
But never solved the jig-saw of our words.
They knew a pattern which would complete
Only the outline of a picture.
Sometimes I saw a shade of truth
Hidden in the pieces of our interlocking thoughts
But never dared to place the colours
In a form that both of us could recognise.
Our worlds had been uncoupled in a dark box
For too long
And the fear of joining closely
All the unspoken shapes of our separate lives
Was too great.

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Comments (1)

Gillian, this is a beautifully expressed poem. Thank you.