I can still see my mother squatting down by the fireplace ,
Putting some sticks over scrunched up newspaper .
She struck a match and lit the paper as smoke arose.
From the kindle a welcome warmth for us to share.
She would ask me to bring in some coal.
Then I’d go into the back yard where it was twelve below .
I remember her at the stove stirring the porridge to the boil ,
Outside winter birds left tracks in the snow.
Noticing the water pipes frozen I’d ask.
Am I going to school today ? ”.
My Mother would give me a smile.
Flames leapt from the coals .
The porridge was hot in the bowls.
”Yes son, she would say. “Winter is here for a while.”
By Paul McCann
Handsome, atmospheric poem. The poignant slice-of-life scene here is vivid and well-constructed and I can picture it in my mind. It is the magic of poetry that can take us back in time and place and make us feel that we are right there. Good work.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem, this was a reminder of my own chidhood. life was not so comfotable but that's all we knew.