You used to watch your mother
boiling the washing
in the steel copper
then heave it out  

with the wooden copper stick
and into the ringer
where you'd help
to pull it through

as it pushed out
the water
into a bowl underneath
you took in

her red hands
the steam rising
from her fingers
the sweat on brow

the tired gaze
the tied around apron
flowered blue
and yellow and white

and the red patterned top
black skirt
then you watched
as she leant back

and put her hands
to the small of her back
to ease the ache
and some days

( if bored with cowboy games
or too wet to go out)
you watched her
make a cake

in a mixing bowl
adding the ingredients
one by one
( giving you a handful

of dried fruit
if you asked)
and put the mixture
in a large round tin

and then place in the oven
with a sigh and run
her fingers through her
dark hair

on other  days
you'd watch her
iron clothes
( using the old iron

which had been heated
on the stove)
on the ironing board
running it over carefully

each item in turn
taking care
not to burn
and you liked to watch

the steam rise
like incense
before your eyes
back in the old days

when you were a boy
in short trousers
and white shirt
with that curious stare

but now your mother
the lady who laboured hard
has passed away
and those washed

and ironed clothes
and cakes
are no longer there.