When she realises,
the figure approaching her bed
is attached to a voice she recognises.
I get my mothers smile.
My mum is blind but sees I’ve left a door open.
I have plans
She chirrups and chatters like a budgie,
hopping from mirror to bell, to mirror
and back to bell.
My mum is deaf but relays all the gossip of the ward
with opinions and bed numbers.
I have things to do
I knew I wasn’t going to die in the operating theatre.
I woke up and saw a clock, and thought
I must be alive as heaven or hell
would have no need of clocks.
I have plans.
At 92 my mum is propped up by a snow drift of pillows
her hair, white, shines like a halo in a medieval painting
She lies, arm straight out, palm up (no sign of stigmata)
connected to a series of plastic bags.
I have things to do
Antibiotics, pain killers and food are being absorbed
the Timothy Leary School motto made real.
Turn on , tune in and drop out.
I have plans
If I sold this on the street, she says, to
The nurse, checking the drips,
I could make some money
Is mum is making a joke or
proposing a business deal?
We are both unsure.
My mum laughs
I have things to do
I have plans
Names, dates and places are fired at me with confidence
Aunts, Uncles, family plots, feuds and distant cousins
are all discussed and judged.
It’s a cinematic style review
I have things to do
Not only can she recall the original ‘actors’
she knows the sequels, the spin-offs,
and all the shows she’s starred in.
or perhaps directed.
I have plans
Comedies, tragedies, rom-coms, action-packed thrillers
and ordinary, TV soap opera fare,
are all projected from her life story
Secretly, I worry over where I parked the car.
I have things to do
All this time, Mum has hold of my hand.
She gives it a firm squeeze and pulls me in close
Instantly I’m six years old and we’re rushing, late for school.
I’m worried. I get a reassuring look
I have plans, She says
I have things to do.