Madame La Pompadour is back her life on track,
the office is alive as she explains mother couldn't
survive another day, detailing costs & discussing
graveyards & I ran off seeking refuge from death
as my mother and father are still alive and I can't
contemplate anything happening to them
before a visit in December; I need to hear all my
dad's illegal smuggling stories, insurance scams,
investigators finding that farmers had set their own
harvests alight for insurance money - threatening
my dad should he give them away, the promise of
a grave amongst the mine dumps awaiting him
I need to hear mom enthuse on doing things she
can no longer do ending in serenading us with her
favourite songs on the piano, me singing along; -
while away I found on sale a big, soft, and brightly
coloured comforter - bought it for my son as I've
become a Can-Do-Mom - 21 years too late my
colleagues say, ah well, today I still want to hear
Conan's voice on sis' WhatsApp broadcasts and
the Queen of Heart's ideas on choir performances
in days past - I can't abide diatribes on the pitfalls
of funeral arrangements since the Duchess'd be
torn apart and I'll lose a piece of my heart…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem