View

Today is memory.

Through window grime

to park: the wisteria tunnel

where once there was a rocket

and a roundabout

long since gone.

where once I pushed a stroller

with grandparents

long now dead.

On Sunday I walked there with you

once-were-Helen. Mother.

We sat on the second wooden bench

your eyes closed/skin an empty shell.

My eyes blinded.

A young girl runs past, we stir.

There's a Labor Party BBQ. Speeches I can't hear.

I think of David Hicks. Your protest.

I want to tell you: He's free now Mum. 

Vindicated. I know you'd be pleased.

Through window grime
to park, and the wisteria tunnel:
Yes, I see the landscape of my years,
and the view of yours forgotten.


Merilyn Childs, 21/1/2015
From my 30for30 series

direction

sometimes it's hard to tell

the direction of good.

Bad seems visceral; vocal: like

Vlad with vampire teeth

on the blood of hope.

I weave garlic into chains,

ring bells, knot ropes

and throw handfuls of rice. 

(The last rather odd, but there you have it):

in search of sunlight.

Merilyn Childs 25/1/2015

From my 30for30 series

Unnamed

with a break

of heart, and fear

this journey came.

Alice Walker whispered

"each one pull one",

packed her bags, came with me.

and I saw into the mud

where your feet walked

where my feet (shod) left marks.

i am bookmarked 

between poetry, keyboard, muscles, whiteness:

it is a small gesture Alice,

I pulled. And I pulled.

Merilyn Childs, 29/01/2015
Part of the 30for30 series

Alice Walker reading "Each One, Pull One" from Her Blue Body Everything We Know: Earthling Poems 1965-1990 

Alice Walker - 'Each one pull one' (poem) by mickeynold

Heaven

I wanted to believe in heaven.
When you died.
I tried.
I wanted to meet you,
having been so close
between rib and bone.
It stopped me dying
That pretence of you:
spirit waiting, wafting.

Daughter: you died.
Heaven is a verb
used by terrorists.

Remembering Charlie Hebdo

Merilyn Childs 10/1/2015

Please: join us!

google sat with us

like an angel

listening here and there

patting our brows

adjusting our crumbs

remembering our secrets.

How nice of google

(how thoughtful)

to send me endless pretty pictures

of bright blonde girls

(click click click)

doing computer sciences.

Perhaps I'd like to join them?

Merilyn Childs 11/12015

what hope looks like

he screamed during the spinal tap.

"He has meningitis". There it is.

We can't block out that sound.

6 weeks and he has taken his first step.

Curtains wide open, no looking away.

He is bandaged and needled.

We make phone calls.

We wait. We cling. We keen.

There is a room full of mothers

sleeping on the floor.

Impossibly, I am one of them. 

There is air-conditioning

and a play room, and 

People speak in whispers.

Family come and go.

Time is hot.

We are melting.

Then: the thermometer makes friends.

Merilyn Childs 5/1/2014

[My son James contracted viral meningitis at 6 weeks. He is now 25 and well.]

weight/wait

I start with a homophone.

To explain.

I have discovered that the words that we use,

(you and I)

intersect. Yes:

somewhere in English.

perhaps in a poster?

or a handout caught by wind?

perhaps on a sign left behind?

mother: somewhere between your poverty

and my Soda Stream bubbled air-conditioning

I pump 2kg weights

While you for water wait.
Wait. Then walk.

Merilyn Childs 4/1/2015

Hard

muscles test weights

my mind sweats

memories:

being 29, before your name

was called.

I've fought for you/

my silent battle cry:

other people's daughters

my own

and other mother's sons.

Merilyn Childs 3/10/2015

Distance

your distances are not like mine.
there is no equity between us:
                            I have clean water; you have mud.
Oh, bridge: be short.
Midwife, lean into her heart.

Merilyn Childs 2/01/2014

Hard

muscles test weights

my mind sweats

memories:

being 29, before your name

was called.

I've fought for you/

my silent battle cry:

other people's daughters

my own

and other mother's sons.

Merilyn Childs 3/10/2015