The Friday poem is back f0r 2015 and we’re kicking off with The Voice in Which my Mother Read to Me from Jonathan Edwards’ Costa Poetry Award Winning collection My Family and Other Superheroes.
The Voice in which my Mother Read to Me
isn’t her good morning, good afternoon, good night voice,
her karaoke as she dusts, make furniture polite voice,
her saved for neighbours’ babies and cooing our dog’s name voice.
It isn’t her best china, not too forward, not too shy voice,
or her dinner’s ready, your room looks like a sty voice,
or her whisper in my ear as she adjusts my tie voice.
It’s not her roll in, Friday night, Lucy in the Sky voice,
her Sunday morning, smartest frock, twinkle-in-the-eye voice,
that passing gossip of the vicar with the Communion wine voice.
It’s not her ‘Gateau – no, ice cream – no… I can’t make the choice’ voice.
It’s not her decades late, fourth change, ‘Is this skirt smart enough?’ voice.
It’s not her caught me with the girl from number twenty-one voice.
That voice which she reserved for twelve-foot grannies, Deep South hobos,
that sleepy, secret staircase, selfish giants, Lilliput voice.
That tripping over, ‘Boy, why is your house so full of books?’ voice.