Myers Day

Mothers’ Day looms

the gloom

a million chrysanthemum blooms

stand wetly in their buckets

cellophane wrapped

celebration of the womb

my mother didn’t buy it

plot by Myers

to make money honey

what she said

no tea and toast in bed

for Mummy

we weren’t raised with it

she called it shit

and I am her own girl

up to a point

 I’d take that breakfast

on a tray

I’d say

first Sunday in May

let me lay in bed ‘til nine

that would make my day

hip hip hooray

and now they’re grown

and gone

I long for burnt toast

and cold tea

the whole catastrophe

spilled over me

long to hold them

close to me

and bless the day

they learned to call me Mum

the hollow crown

this motherhood

is made of thorns

and bitter sweet

and yet

I bless the day

that they were born.

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