Words about my Mother

My mother's house has many bedrooms.
Some of them contain men who can fly.
She phones them upstairs on their various mobiles.
She says, "D'you want a quick cup of tea?'

She whisks double cream, spins all her clothes,
presses red buttons discriminately,
takes flowers to the church and disappears;
sometimes we have lost her for days.

She fashions stories with coloured crosses,
constructs bright cushions during eclipses.
She even bakes spells. Her chocolate cake
transforms the eater into a sponge.

Foreign professors visit the house
(we think they came down the secret stairs).
Someone has given her postcards and poems
and filled the freezer with blackberries.

There are words on the fridge that may not be hers.

Helena Nelson

If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.

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