Tuesday Poem

Whistling Mummy

Noise in the shape
Of words whistling
Contorted into
Breath that smells
Of death approaching
Slowly sour
Patching memories
Only she can enter
Darkly

Mummy no longer
She’s an old woman
Without teeth
Who makes strange
Mockery of a love
Strained in the
Best of times

Monsters are
Our shadows
On walls etched
With the grief of
Anger

I find I cannot
Leave anything
Behind I fear
Neither can
She

Who must be

Obeyed

In this broken
World we
Share I
Wonder if death
Will break us
apart shattering

Comfort
a thought which
Is also a
Hope
The ties that bind
might set us both
Free as she

Wanders into
My dreams turning
The lock each night

Every night
I hold my breath

Wondering how long
She can

by Fawzia Afzal-Khan