Come my dear, share with me your news.
The old ones, the young ones.
All of it, all of it. What have you for your muse?
Some dear mother are close;
Some are far, further than you ever could imagine.
Much of what I will tell you will juxtapose
with romantic recall of which you were fond.
Come, you must not keep me in suspense
my bones have been aching to know the things afoot.
Open for me a new chapter, come commence.
How shall I approach such a delicate matter?
What resources the modern world
reveals to the seekers with you at the centre.
The threads, the answers to so many questions,
With ever more and more …and
the sweet mother you never knew … never knew
never knew. Never knew – any of this.
Because dear muse, words fail me.
Be comforted. Sleep well.
Benita H. Kape © 15.4.2015
My first version of the poem gave some answers. I don’t think that is always what poetry should do. The poetry gods are with me today. I had an appointment. The car wouldn’t start. I adjusted my appointment time, got the poem I wanted (thank you dear muse) and now the car has started when tried again. Whollla. The picture is of my very recently discovered grandmother. My mother was her first child, not pictured here.