Mum, what’s left?

a poem

Mum, what’s left?
— this mind — bookkeeping your wrinkles and smiles
& Jesus Christ, mum, I am scared.
Knocking on your bedroom door
& asking you to hold my tears.

I never had a plot.
This highway
& a car that discerns too much
between asphalt & dirt.

They are building a street coming right to your house
the curtain a half-closed eye to the future.
I lay in road sounds under the children’s posters
fabricated truth seized by these closed walls

Mum I beg you:

When’s it gonna end?
When will the page turn?
Cheer me up, hold my hand
remind me to surrender, brush my hair until I forget…
They are building a street coming right to your house

We still dream of Glenelg, don’t we? Dreams
broken by a rough flight. I’ll take you on a train
& I won’t be embarrassed when you’ll sing

I’m saving all my love…for you

loud, knowing everyone can hear you.

Mum, let’s visit Echuca, let’s find you
a life to live
I don’t have ambitions for one myself
& we’ll dance too. Why not? What do we
have to be embarassed for?

When’s it gonna end?
When will the page turn?
Cheer me up, hold my hand
remind me to surrender, brush my hair until I forget…
They are building a street coming right to your house

I hold the memory of your tears at 28, your voice breaking
when touching the bathroom tiles
This plane isn’t mine for the taking
But I’ve begged you enough
& I just wish I remembered you suffer as well
That story is yours to tell
I can’t do it for you ma, I can’t.