Mother I Am. Poem by Mary X

It happened when I was ten.
I remember her coming to my house,
knocking on my door,
opening up to a dreary
end.

She walked in.
Clumsily in a daze she attempted
to foot the first stair.
A thousand stares.
She made her way

to the top. I was reminded
of falling to the bottom of a
pyramid.
A doors slam and to the bed,
that door, that door
that rotten apples core,
a thump to the floor.

I clearly remember being told
to know nothing. If the secret leaked
into town, god knows
how we’d be treated.
But I did know. We all knew.

She was rushed to hospital
to be fixed up; nice and polished,
good and new.
A packet of re-sealed crisps.
That’s what triggers this gun

of guns,
loss of losses,
thought of thoughts,
pill of all pills –
that’s what finished that
pack of crisps and guilt.