Mum

Your perfume wafts
Into every fragment of my life.
I see you in the size of
My hands, the depth
Of my eyes.

I trace our history out
On your back in the bath-
Chicken lasagna Tuesdays,
Creatively accounted phone bills
And the tickling monster.

You have never been too
Busy to help me edit my life.
You gave yourself
To me; a page to splatter
With ink, as I tried to

Make sense of myself.
Floundering as a
Nouveau adult,
You took me to buy a bed
To lay my troubles on.

Now I am a woman,
Apparently. I am still
Scared as I stare
Into the abyss, turning
History into mystery.

I can take the
Next step, nothing
Is impossible.
I know you will always
Heave ho with me.