Saturday 2 April 2022

Gerrit Komrij: 'Moeder'


 

MOTHER

 

My mother at times came alive

Was granted the gift of the gab –

She gabbled on fixed overdrive –

A seamless past made up of blab –

 

But most of the time she said nowt.

Reminding me most of a pillar

Unreachable, steely throughout.

To kiss her would not be a thriller.

 

Quite senile. She cackled away.

‘Good gracious, how well you’ve been fed’

‘What times we once had, not today’

‘And when will you leave?’ – and then dead.

 

 

 

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