Last Year In May – New Poem (first draft)
Last Year In May
It was a beautiful spring day,
and I thought we’d be in and out of A&E quickly.
But it was more serious than we thought.
Her organs were giving up.
Mum said, ‘I want to go home, to your home,
make potato salad for the kids
with salt and pepper and parsley.’
Even when she’d been transferred
to the intensive care ward,
she said she didn’t need her nightgown
reading glasses, or medication
because we’d be leaving soon.
The kids bought a plastic bowl of potato salad,
mayonnaise dabbed the tight clingflim
as they struggled to keep hold.
Mum went very fast, like the first ripe grapes
or layer of mist on a hot morning.
She was still holding her handbag.