Your Mother

Your mother remembers how she would flinch
every time she shut your bedroom door at night
because she was closing the route she had mapped out
for you to find her.
Your mother remembers buying you Christmas Eve pyjamas
which you would outgrow a day later with your swelling anticipation.
She wanted you. Even when she got you, she did not stop wanting.
Your arms, elbow to wrist as far down as the gear stick,
A constant in the blur of motorway lights.

Your mother remembers so that you will not forget.


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