Here, I meet
my mother
before she has
even thought of me.
Here, she
a turning
twenty something or other
& I only
the long longed for
the sly shy twinkle
in her eye.
And now I am
her little boy
playing with photographs
scattered across sunshine
linoleum.
Here now, I
a twenty something or other
& here
I am
older
than she
was then
meeting my mother
in the spilt photographs
that scatter time
across this Autumn floor.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/meeting-my-mother/
