Poem – My mother

My mother came to tea,

She left me her smile,

It did not wither,

Nor wound me,

Nor keep me in time,

But it stayed with me a while,

Through the things that don’t rhyme.


By Hermione Laake

Published by hermionelaake contributing editor O:JA&L

Currently, whist working on long fiction, I write short stories, poetry, essays and blog weekly. I appeared on Blog Talk Radio, 2016, interview across continents with Susan Wingate. See my twitter account: herziloph, pinned tweet; Award nominee, Jointly-published and Indie writer. Nominated for the Avon and Authonomy First Lines prize, 2014 and the H. G. Wells Grand Prize for Fiction, 2013. My flash fiction is published with Open: Journal of Arts and Letters.

3 thoughts on “Poem – My mother

  1. This makes me think of looking at photographs of my mother before her vascular dementia became serious and could still have a good conversation…she left something of herself in my photographs that gradually disappeared. So I find your words very moving.

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