Trying to make sense of it all in the River Gardens
I say
You'll be ok
I bless/break the digestive into little pieces to ease the passage
It doesn't seem to taste the same these days
How about another sip of tea?
Angled head inclined to awkwardness
a sipping sucking clumsy lip trembling bite at it
half a thimbleful clears the crumbs
I keep smiling and bless/break the sweetness of jaffa cake host into quarters
What's that you say?
Just a biscuit mum...
I can always manage a biscuit
said more from rote than commitment
There's no taste in any of it these days
I could be eating anything
Tongue cleaning round teeth and gums
precarious
and crumbs
fall on the bedclothes
catch in folds
for some reason to do perhaps with propriety
long lost standards
slipped a division or two
gathered in
to fill the thirteen baskets
as if by some miracle
they will pass to the poor.
Blessing breaking smiling
offering all I can in the way of
sonship
kinship
fellowship
Silently praying for the strength to be what I can
be what's needed
who are we mum
you and I?
somehow reflecting dignity identity
into a hopelessly awkward canvas
Nothing is lost to a god who counts sparrows
I hope not
but evidence is a bit thin
on this side of the veil.
