in all her giving

my great-grandmother struggled through adversity of a sort i have never known.

i would have liked to thank her for giving birth to my mother's father who in turn

helped bring my mother into this world.

i know the very barest of her life, for knowledge of her has been filtered through my mother's father who was understandably circumspect about the terms and conditions

by which his own mother experienced this world.

~

she cries out

for silence

but the memory

of his absent

beer-slurred voice

cuts through the

thick hardened depths

of their candlelit room

as somewhere

in the great cold house

a clock

chimes

eleven hollow gongs

one for each of her children

still hiding behind

or clinging to

her skirt

and no chimes

for the five

who have already

left

for them

only the silent spaces

full rich

and mute

for her the kitchen oven

the gas already hissing

a soft doorway

to another

more beautiful world

other responses to the visual prompt for this writing can be found at

magpie tales hosted by the exceptional "willow"

thankyou - wherever you are