The following poem was published by Poetry Breakfast on the 7th of June.
I tried my mother’s glasses once,
when I was little, and saw what
she saw, I thought—the world
was like tears, and a haze of shifting
fog, and life was divided by a
line like some magnetic pole—
I thought it was a border, a kind of
limbo place where things decided
what they were—and what was I then?
Just a blur (poor Mother, dear
weeping woman of sorrows), I was
ascending like a puff of vapour,
though I was distant, and no one saw it,
I was translated too through the polar
channel, what I saw was life and colour,
and I condensed somewhere, at some point—
I am tears, dear Mother, you see
sadness clearly—you laughed for me,
and I love you, though I hate the
demons in you, despite my rage I would
die for you, dear Mother, you see dimly,
and though through tears I see you too,
I see you, Mother, I see you clearly.