For My Mother

I am thousands
upon thousands of miles away, while
an adopted revolution
plays out at my fingertips.
If I open a window,
I hear the people sing

I imagine my own
daughter; she is a stubborn and insubstantial little ghost
picking her way amidst another
far Eastern uprising, with trepidation.
I am afraid for her,
as my mother is afraid for me

my mother – so unfitting when she always has and will be mam,
or Queen
to me – her homegrown years of Northern soul
and bolshy, ironclad care have blossomed in me

we are dandelions,
battered by bad times
bad winds
but popping up, insistent and grinning
two whip-cracking
lionesses with bared teeth
and shared
deep-seated sadnesses

I have her sighs before reproach
I have her fierce, unsqueamish love
I have her heart and she has me;
a chain-smoking, smart-talking ingenue
with big ideas
and a pretty way with words

my make-believe daughter is better than me-
mindful of the sound
of her mother’s heart as it breaks

a piece in Australia, for my sister
she pays for more metal in her face every day
and forgets to call

a piece in Hong Kong
for me, a patchwork girl
figuring out how to make her mother proud.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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