I Met You Last Night

I met my dead Mother, in a conversation last night,
Coming the other way in words,
If I hadn't lifted my head,
They may have gone by,  unheard,

But in your remembrance,  from a mutual friend,
I saw you like it was the first time,
Through fresh eyes,
Distanced from the distortion of familiarity,
Free from familial contempt,
The contempt of contentment,
When new information,
Is kept waiting at the door,
Or is barged past on the crowded Street.

 

No I saw a flash of you.
It was a glorious ghost,
I saw your smile in their fondness,
I trod the steps,
From alienation to affection,
As they grew to love you,
And you warmed to them,

 

I felt the burn of your shyness,
I recoiled at the heat of your cool reserve,
I felt the tingle of thawing numbness,
As your guard came down,  and your defenses melted,

 

I too had known it once,
I was on occasion,  kept at the door,
I knew what it meant to be invited in,
And to sprawl out, fireside on the floor,

I saw you smile, as they recalled your warmth, 
I saw your face in the smile of the words,
I saw the flash of it, and It caught my eye, and it was free from all remorse,

 

It was you,  and devoid of me,
It was you standing apart from the cage of memory,
It was you,  in colour, sepia free.
Filterless and feisty,
You and you alone,
No memory to bind or blind me,

And you were as living as the words
You had life, beyond them,
Your life was in them,
As they recalled your goodness,

It was the surprise of sight,
That took my breath on a journey,

I saw you in the words of another,
And touching their words I reached out,
And kissed the face of my Mother.