She sang out to me, that youthful mother,

Sweet melodies, ‘twas alchemy.

Bought me lollies, many dollies,

For laughter-filled playtimes.

She drove me here, she drove me there.

The parks were full of mothers like her.

The seesaws, those jungle gyms,

Abounded with little hymns such as me.

Those days, they were,

More presence than absence,

And moments, days, and years,

Dripping in youthful bounty,

Like two gladiators we rode them,

Striking friendship with

A million joys, a few fake tears.

Now rests but a muse,

A shadow reminder of missing mother,

An aging symphony, missing harmonies.

Her world is dark, its beauty all but gone,

More absence than presence,

And moments, days, and years,

Must be lived, with unknown fears,

Laboured breath, strange voices,

Streaming out of a robot box,

More familiar now than those that were,

Once deeply beloved.

The missing mother’s adrift,

In by-lanes of her own making,

I contend with the defaulter,

Straining, trembling,

I cremate the absentee.