As far as putting things into a post box go, I am rubbish at it. Remembering what day it is, and when it is not a problem for me. I’ll by a card, I’ll write in it, I’ll even address and put a stamp on it. But actually posting it? I seem to have a missing particle in my DNA, because I never remember to do it.
No one in my family expects a card from me.
So when mother’s day came around this year, I got up especially early for a sunday to wish my mum a happy mother’s day. For me, poetry is a beautiful way of saying something to someone you love, so I wanted to write my mum a poem. I spent days thinking about my earliest memories of my mum. Actually thinking about the first physical presence I remembered, where I can see her in my minds eye, and whats she was doing. Then I started thinking about the memories that really stuck out for me. The ones that made me smile, or cringe.
The first half of the poem expresses the view that as children we don’t consider what our mums do for us. We have a “me, me, me” prospective and mums are there to stifle us, use us as an excuse when they screw up, stop us for doing what we want, and embarass us. A form of parental torture worthy of the title The Wicked Witch. The second half of the poem is from an adult perspective. It’s about how much I appreciate my mum, that I think she did a good job, and that I don’t bare any grudges for what she has done to me as a child. The last paragraph is acknowledging that she isn’t perfect, but thanking her for being my mum.
Read The Wicked Witch and other Poems written by Erin Cawood at www.erincawood.co.uk.