'powerful' poem, Max. It surprises and entertains. And makes you think. Imagine if you'd beamed your returning mother!
Bill
On 21/05/2014, at 10:37 PM, Max Richards wrote:
> Mother's Mirror
>
> above her dressing table
> was larger than me, and round.
> It swivelled a little -
>
> up and down - tilting
> let you see higher a bit,
> below a bit, not far.
>
> When the sun caught it,
> its reflection was bright,
> light searching very far.
>
> Once, left at home alone,
> I found a screwdriver,
> turned the dressing table
>
> from the wall, unscrewed
> the mirror. Gingerly
> I lifted it to the rug,
>
> slid it to the front door,
> through to the front porch.
> Afternoon light streamed in.
>
> Positioned carefully,
> the mirror sent sunlight
> to the far end of the street.
>
> Power filled me as never before.
> I could dazzle the whole suburb,
> if they only came to the corner.
>
> Nobody came.The sun was sinking.
> It was hard work returning the mirror
> to its place, fixing the screws.
>
> My fingerprints were everywhere.
> Could I clean them off in time
> before I was no longer alone?
>
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