The Men See Her

The Men See Her

There’s a stranger in my mother’s clothes.
In her bed
Voice. Face and toes.

But praise be given where praise is owed
Appearance, voice and mannerisms;
Mirrors that which only God bestowed.

Sometimes I hit myself
Scold. Admonish. Reproach.
For allowing myself to forget
That you’re just a stranger,
A stranger in my mother’s clothes.

You’ve hollowed her out,
To just a caged shadow
Alone and left to hide
Blank and empty,
In wide scared eyes.
Fix on me, and flood mine
Fix you?
Then help me break time.

The men see her.
I can’t. We can’t. She can’t.
But the men see her.
De-Men-Tia?
Three men see her.
Father son and spirit that floats.

The winds change
While she greys
So all things too must close.
Life battles many woes
But no storm could ever weather
The strangest stranger,
That stranger in my mother’s clothes.
 
 

Abigail Wright was born in a small town just outside of Watford, and is now living and writing in Edinburgh. A book worm and caffeine addict she often goes by the alias scatters and can be found hidden away in book and coffee shops across Edinburgh. She is currently working on several projects, more details of which can be found on her blog: www.inabitofascatter.wordpress.com

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