International Women's Day

A year ago today, I attended an Open Mic Poetry evening, the theme of which was International Women’s Day.  I have completely forgotten what I performed there – it might have been the one about Krishnan Guru-Murthy  (one of the ones about Krishnan Guru-Murthy - sigh).  That evening lives in my memory as being filled with the sparkling treasures of the talented poets who shared their work; but also because I wrote this when I got home, bursting with inspiration and bursting for a wee from the latte and the nerves.  My darling son had cried for me when I left the house that evening.  Tonight, he was stung by a wasp.  Tough times.  My precious boy, this is for you.

The Rock That’s In The Sea

Because he was crying, I made him a promise

Although he’d never know I would keep it

But his cheeks were two rosy oceans

Into which his love was pouring. ‘Don’t go, Mummy,’

He murmured, picking the shards of his heart from the carpet

Don’t go and read poems to those people.’

The bleeding pieces lay in his hands and I took them

And put them with mine

So with verses circling, I read to him first

But his breath hitched as his bursting lungs fought

For space in the cage of his chest

He clung to my body as if to climb back inside

And for a moment, I wished it – but the cord was cut

And the story was up, so I left

Trailing promises of kisses like a wake

                 -  -  -   -   -   -   -   -   -  -  -  -

Later I kissed Daddy at the door – once, then twice,

Thinking, Men are not so bad after all

Upstairs, I thought about Ophelia while my feet

Sought slippers and I sighed and kept my word. 

My child, my son, the one I weep to see

Lay in a patch of light through a green leaf

His cat reclined, supine, in his arms

Like a lover; ‘Brow,’ she said, and raised her head,

But nothing more than an idle paw escaped the embrace

Of the boy she adored. His upturned face

Moved with the dream he wove

And I stroked the motion of his lips

Thinking, Michelangelo’s got nothing on this

My selfish heart longed to shake him awake

Just to prove my promise kept

But all, and most of all, I wished

To tumble headlong into his head, and take his hand

And run and run until we reached the ocean

Our tears had made

© Muriel Lavender

March 2010