The Woman In The Scullery… Joe Canning)
‘The woman in the scullery’….. (For Madge.)
Outside our scullery window stood a pear tree.
Inside, stood a woman that will forever be a saint.
Peeling Arran Banners or Pinks, she watched us.
We played tag or tig hiding behind gooseberry bush rows.
The black and white mongrel exposed us to the chasers.
Tiredness and hunger pangs would take us indoors.
She reached for the bread and cut us a healthy slice
We tucked in. Red strawberry jam attracted the summer wasp.
From a cold step we watched her going about her business;
labouring through a life of bare necessity without complaint.
The hungry wasp was dispatched as it trespassed on the window.
Covered in soap stains, it smeared the glass in its death throes.
I watched as the flowery apron dried her working hands.
A loved child, I sat there, ignorant of the exhaustion before me.
She paused and sipped another mouthful of tea gone cold.
Sometimes she bumped her varicose legs and they would bleed.
Sometimes she had a cry but most days she would sing.
Six and a half stones of human wonderment; a mother of nine
Mother of mine A giant among humans.
A tower of love. There were millions like her in another million sculleries.
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 