I Can Make You

[Mike Daniels]

I Can Make You

She gave me life,
a simple thankless gift
extended in peasant fingers,
the corns on her palms
rubbing warmth and sweat
into me. That first breath
came with her gift, those
first cries for help -
from hunger, the cut knees,
grazed dignity, broken egos
that spread from bairn to boy
to youth.

'I can make you proud, mummy!'
How often I said that
with real feeling - passion, desire,
intent behind every whispered word.

I sit now and wonder how
to set about the task,
how to make her proud.
Would she have me run for pope?
Or perhaps she wants a poet for a son?
Or just to smile a while in fond memory?

I hold her hand - so dry - in mine
and feel the coolness of her
and the stillness of her
and find it here in this room,
the art of merely being.

[Louis P. Burns aka Lugh]

This poem stopped me in my tracks Mike. A stunning work and one that has made me take stock of all the love my own mother has given me. I have a lump in my throat right now and I am completely moved by this.

Thank you.

[Catherine Edmunds]

Ah yes, the 'art of merely being'. My own son just has to exist for me to love him so, so much.

I suppose, as a mother, I'm looking at your poem from the 'other side'. It's equally as moving. Wonderful writing, Mike.