Josep Almudever

Mum calls

Mum calls every night
With a platter of chatter,
mouthfuls of aging laughter,
dialect
and local bitter sweets.

Mum calls every night
to sprinkle my roots.

Watering can to the brim,
she thumbs my elephant ears,
and turns them to check all’s well,
while shadows of chitchat and puppets
perform for me and at length.

Encased in obituaries, jewels
On my sister-in-law smoothed
By it’s-not-her-faults,
A scatter of silences
That I manage to fill
With reallys and vale-vales like little
Burps after a pink fizzy drink.

Although I suspect a soothing
Like almond paste,
Mum calls not to hear my breath.
She calls me like a poet posts
A self-addressed note
With his one good verse,
Not because the rhyme is good,
but to keep marvelling
at the past
returning to his gate.

Copyright © Josep Almudever 2015

Josep Almudever lives, works and writes in Edinburgh.

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About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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4 Responses to Josep Almudever

  1. christo46 says:

    Thanks, Josep – revived so many memories of growing up under the watchful but rarely preventing eye of my mother who was widowed when I was only seven and Dad was merely 42. Mum devoted herself to me instead of finding a good man to love, and the hesitant and infrequent telephone conversations while I was at university recur to me not in detail, but in the awkwardness on both our parts.

  2. Abu Sufian Tipu says:

    Hearing something special for the universe,for the humanity……
    Go ahead poet…..

  3. David says:

    beautiful. More please….

  4. hello christo46, thanks very much for your comments! it seems that men’s experience of their parents is not a very common theme for poetry! but as you prove, so many of us have similar memories of, for example, our mothers.

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