My Mother’s House.
An old ginger cat, called Samboy, who dribbles
and soaks in the heat and patting.
A larrikin dog, called Ben, with a strong lust
for life, female dogs, and things that stink a lot -
An old, old house ...
with no paint left on it - but flakes of war time yellow -
Sagging at the seams...
Inside - Colour! Colour! Colour!
The whole spectrum thrown with abandon
amongst the clutter of every item ever made and collectible...
but she can put her hand on everything you need,
“Just give me five minutes”.
This then is my Mother’s house now.
No neat prissy brick and tile, with every care taken,
and smelling of a life wasted in endless order and empty heart -
Sometimes here she is happy.
Light shines and laughter warms in girlish giggles from her.
Sometimes she is very unhappy.
She closes from the light and lives inside a cardboard world,
enduring it till it passes...
People with their heads and hearts on backwards
Would never see the charm, warmth and purity
of my Mother’s house.
Therese Mackay - July 1988