Porscha Cunningham
Christine Cunningham (mammy)
HER LAST SUMMER
Crystal drops hang on ribbons overhead,
Casting rainbows all around
Remnants of an old life,
Of Sunday teas
When life was sweet
And summers long.
Her charts still mark the blackboard.
A timetable of tablets and weight loss
As I battled to keep her.
Night time cries established
A pattern of broken sleep,
Warming her food
But the gravy only she would eat.
She filled this house with her tiny frame
Until it was time.
And now I sit
In the emptiness
Longing for her return.
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