MY MOTHER'S HANDS

My mother’s hands

washing potatoes
washing kids
washing pans.

My mother’s hands
on bitterly cold days

******* yet more washing
on a pregnant line

the line growing nothing but
nappies

her hands blind
with the cold.

My mother’s hands
ironing clothes
ironing clothes
ironing countless knickers

for my seven sisters.

My mother’s hands
taking my hands
in hers

such love...such laughter!

My mother’s hands
patting talcum powder

on another baby’s ***.

Mum being Mum.

Me, kissing

my mother’s hands

for all...they’ve done.

It is caffeine induced insanity,
heart beating rapidly,
stress and anxiety
hunting me viciously.
I try to slow my breathing,
try not to see all the possible
bad outcomes,
but my nervousness ruins everything,
tightening the valves and ventricles
that should keep me moving.

Now they keep me cringing
worried about what worse thing
that may still be coming.
I clench my chest,
try to calm my breaths.
Until, I am able to
force myself to sleep
and awaken with
just a little more peace.

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold,
and a perfect place
to put my bare foot
to ease the aching pain
as long as no one is
looking my way.
So, I slip off
my right shoe
press it against
the cold concrete
until the pain leaves my feet
and hope
no one notices
this silliness.

breathe
i cant
breathe
i know
breathe
the walls are closing in
breathe
i am trapped
breathe
in a cage i built myself
breathe
air cannot break these chains
breathe
there is not enough oxygen in all the atmosphere to fill my hollow lungs
breathe
i cant, i am screaming far too loud
you are silent*
not if you listen
breathe
i cannot see myself anymore
breathe
thats not such a bad thing afterall
*breathe