P O E T RY
Aloycia
by Ariana Maria Herbert
I am drinking my mother’s vanity table;
plunging
fingertips
along dented grooves
in her jewellery box-
dunking
fingers
up, across
her shrill silver hoops,
interlocked-
elbows
tossing through
her church shirts,
knees, heels, pumps;
toes
devouring ochro coloured mats,
hands laughing along walls,
palms running past
little hills from puttied holes-
there is my favourite photo,
Her at 20
and so many of me-
soppy-eyed in my mother’s
smile,
a ripe julie -
She
fills
me
up
6
APR - JUN | 2018
Years from now when my mother is gone
on,
who will tell the people of her
sun
shocked arms
5am weary, beautiful hands?
Who will let the people know
how she laughed light,
a buttered light
at everything?
How her hurt could steep our skies
till back home rolled
her calm
I will not forget
ginger tea and
guava jam,
Her p