I normally post the poem that received the most likes or comments on Instagram on my blog here each Sunday, but this week I'd like to feature this poem from an upcoming collection I’m putting together for Mother’s Day.
Trying We’re going to town. I try to help but, home from England, I don’t know where anything goes anymore. And anyway, you say, no need, no need. Your outdoor shoes are ready by the back door. Overcoat. Hat. Scarf. Umbrella. Stick. Tick, tick, tick. You held me as I took my first steps. Will I hold you as you take your last? In town we shop, then walk the quay where the Slaney empties into the sea. Elbows linked. I try not to feel the old guilt for taking the life (a part of) you wanted me to lead. Now you are showing me how I will walk, and, afterwards, back in the house making us tea, how to reach gently, bend slowly, meander around hurdles, like the river, winding through south county Wexford on its way to return to its source. Patient at last. I try not to help, to let you allow us no need.