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From a window

In her final weeks

at Donnington House

my mother slept away

her visitors

fallen into pain

& through with it all

we waited

freighted with love

unconditional.

 

I was left

with the window

gazing west over

grey gull-flecked clouds

the black nail’s head

of peregrine

slicing air

bullying his world

 

the garden

short back & sides

an arrangement

my father would have liked-

one in the eye for chaos

 

easy to see

the stretch of a life

from here

a life measured

in lovers or dogs

meaning no more

than we mean it

to mean.

Published inPoetry

One Comment

  1. Kate Senior Kate Senior

    Powerful and evocative.

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