Poetry for Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day in Australia today. When I was growing up, it wasn't the big commercially oriented day of hype it's morphed into these days. My mother wasn't even remotely interested in fancy presents. I found a huge collection of handmade cards she'd saved from when we were little in  amongst her things after she died. And on the day, some flowers picked from the garden and a box of those thin Red Tulip after dinner mints were more than enough in the way of special treats for her.

Mum loved poetry. As the years go by and we reach Mother's Day each May, the month before she died, I find myself deep in her collection of poetry books that I inherited. I wrote about this back in June 2012 on her yahrzeit (the yearly anniversary of a death) - you can read that post here. Today, finding myself back in the bookcase amongst the poetry books, it was her own poetry I was hunting... She was published, just once, in an anthology she co-edited in 2000. She made me go to the launch to read her poem - she refused to do it herself, although, that's what all the others did. She was never one to look for a spotlight. Having talked with her on a number of occasions about the genesis of this poem, it was fascinating to hear all the interpretations that came at me in the discussion following my reading. They were, by the way, ALL wrong! Although, that's one of the beauties of poetry - we are free to make whatever interpretation we like for ourselves of a poem, as well as possibly seeking out what drove the poet to write it in the first place. In keeping with Mum's own reticence about it (she was a very private person), I'll offer up the poem here, but not what inspired it - and you can take from it what you will...

That Day

Time tunnelled that day
   twisted, turned -
                      this way
                      - and that.

Feeling flustered that day
   feathered, flew -
                       this way
                       - and that.

Touch trembled that day
   trespassed, triggered -
                       this way
                       - and that.

O how we hovered that day
   hollered, hungered,
          threw hats to the wind
            and caution, too -
                        this way
                        - and that.

Love lingered
   languished, left -
                        couldn't stay
                                    - that day.

Judith Finch 1934-2003

Happy Mother's Day to all the mums out there, and my thoughts are with those who are missing their mums.