North Wind

A poem in memory of Mavis

How lustily the northerly taps at my back door,

unseen presence rattling timber and pane

how the northerly unsettles my composure

edged with regret and dull stirrings of memory,

my manic Mother barricaded the house

against its dry rasping tongue licking at window

and door hinting at raw Earth newly raked over

by greedy plough and furrows bringing only

dust.

Memories of you my beloved when I first held

you near enough to hear your breath,

faintly surprised anyone would consider

this something possible , my skin was dry,

child of the north you laughed to hear my

fears.

Wind dies now yet its gusts hint of change,

stormy night to send us to our beds in shelter

roof rattling like my penitent heart fumbling to

recall a Hail Mary long forgotten on my lapsed

breath.

Heralds of change make no apology , storms come

and we flood our lives with thoughts and fears,

winds still blow and in compass shift a southerly

rolls its sweet balm over troubled soul caressing,

easing my distress.

Mother now is dust and rides airborne free from

pain and burden of being what she never wanted

to be, trapped in a hot kitchen feeding flocks

of men meat and mash in endless succession,

until one day she was being fed by someone else.

Lull and quiet now , my wave of nostalgia

cured with memory of the claustrophobic sixties

stripped of charm here in the arid northern plain.

Chris Papps 2018

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