Full Of Stars, But No Light To Make Them Shine – Megg Minos


In my day, my mother says, they just came out

& mimes a dropping,

alive or dead, her fingers cup

a phantom babies head.


On a telephone, the current newborn is shown,

look at what your cousin has done –

a miracle of science, she says

& I had you alone.


We toss and turn the sums around,

consider this & that,

my mother decides the baby cost

about the deposit on a flat.


Once, in a kitchen, I watched her iron

rent money neatly so, the landlord

could count it crisply

& the creases wouldn’t show.


In this kitchen, we circle delicately

the subject of her childless children,

a wrinkle never made smooth &

which science cannot make even.


Despite the humming fridge,

across the lino floor, over the apples quietly moulding

drapes a silence made large

by the language it is withholding.


The kettle whistles cleanly,

Steam whitening the room.

A home without a child, she says,

is like a night sky without a moon.


Copyright Megg Minos 2013

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