Mother by Rachel Coventry

Mother,

 

in the summer

that followed the winter

of your death, I was barefoot

in the kitchen, unsuitably dressed

for visitors, cooking for myself,

my head full of what I’d do to him.

 

When I came face to face with the virgin

and her solemn, disproportioned child

before that I had been blind.

 

I put your holy picture in the bin, Mother,

it was finally time.

 

 

Rachel Coventry lives in Galway where she is studying for a PhD on Heidegger’s poetics. Her poems have appeared in various journals including the North, Poetry Ireland Review, The Moth, The Irish Times, and The SHop. Her collection Afternoon Drinking in the Jolly Butchers is published by Salmon poetry.

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