Pencil Scribbles On A Small Notepad

[to my mother who was a poet and for whom

I wanted to be one, too]

pencil scribbles on a small notepad.

no alphabet at all.

running to my mother, oh, come see, I said:

I'm writing, just like you!

oh yes.  she said. yes, that's true.

you are you and through and through

and you are writing too, small star in

my vanished skies.

through long years and dark

I carried pure

kindness in my heart, inscribed, by her-

all other trials, apart-

until it became

(I hope, for you)

 a whole garden flowering

mary angela douglas 29 june 2014