I nuzzle my face into her neck, like a child.
My memory of comfort colliding with
The hollow feeling that’s fear. I
Swallow despite the lump in my throat.
Her skin is soft, like a feather’s touch,
As if there is no weight, no substance.
Just the softness of age, crepe textured by
Neediness and laced with fading memories.
We’ve watched the news, talked about the Home
Restricting visits, acknowledged her loneliness.
I caress her cheek, breathe in her eighty-eight years.
For the virus comes; I may not hold my mum again.
18 March 2020: Australian Prime Minister announces restricts visits to aged care facilities.
Commenti