Dead of Night
night is womb time
shaded moon time
in my dreams
dead family visit
sister reminds me
that double basses
are tuned in fourths
not fifths and I,
grateful for the return
of that knowledge now
keep it consciously lodged
in my cerebrum, last night
I visited my father
in his bi-partite mansion
crossing sides on the
white marble steps, mother
visits in shadows, only her face
clear and recognisable, lipstick-ed
and young, I stopped seeing her
at forty to save myself, this
is the only way she can
visit me now, and I
am strangely pleased,
the word ‘mother’ loaded
with substance, I realise
why the hurt of son
never saying ‘Mum’
though daughter does
I clasp each one
like a prized talisman,
They visit when I am awake
too and I am perplexed
by an identity: who was it
who strode so resolutely
through the door
that night before I
was asleep? my late-husband
or my desperate lover
who suicided, both
now intertwined
in death, the only way
I can have them both
night is womb time
doom time
moon time
- © Erina Booker 2022
Erina Booker is a Sydney/Tweed Heads based poet, whose life revolves around Poetry. She has published 11 collections, recites at public functions, belongs to poetry & writing groups, presents seminars, judges competitions, & also publishes in anthologies, & online. She has a major is Literature & Composition within her BA, & post-graduate studies in Counselling taught her more about the value of the pause. Her work may be found in Amazon, Lulu Press, & InHouse Publishing.
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