Mandy Beattie
TAKE MY HAND
Nana. Not a day went by
treasured griddle embodiment of you
equipment and ingredients galore
pancakes, flour scones and apron
plain and treacle, round and triangular.
Like life, uneven and multi-hued
Wooden spoon toiling round and round,
smoothing out. Imbalance
Lost in time, salve to your soul
a hidden tear drops, burying amid.
Silken batter searing surface
treasured son gone before
smells heavenly, bitter sweet
Spirit of lost child.
Defining you ever after
golden brown, done to perfection
melting butter and rhubarb jam
hot off the press, taste buds tingling
Evocative smell, blending memories
Haunt us all. Still.
* * *
COTTON WOOL
Vortex of entwined snakes
Swirling mists of short circuit
Dense undergrowth inhabits thought
Disobedient limbs entangled
Weak as watered 'uishgi'
Stumbling over apparitions
Lethargy outwitted by immobility
Heaviness of the cold North Sea
Sleep evading desperation
Military planning gone awry
Adapted for the next time
Shelved dreams until tomorrow
*Uishgi is Scottish Gaelic for whisky
Mandy J. Beattie hails from Wick, Caithness, Scotland. She is studying for a PhD in disability and feminism and as is if that isn't enough, also attends an evening class in creative writing. As an 'addendum' she is also 'currently' evolving alongside M.E. & Multiple Allergies.
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