The suitcase

For my mother on her 84th birthday
 
there is a suitcase by the door
in it are folded neatly two outfits
one for mum one for dad
for when they take their final bow
 
together more than half a century
don’t know who’s going to exit stage left
how the other will cope
love hate love hate that’s been their way
 
product of this love
the hate has screwed me up
so much a part of each other 
they can’t bear to be apart
 
no tacky romance holding hands
no words all that needed to be said has been
glad of each other’s company in their last days
 
i am the product of this love
made in hong kong 1961
part of global baby boom
flower power free love peace 
 
strange how roles reversed
i become the parent they the child
i hold their hand stroke their hair
tell them it’s going to be ok
 
protect from too much reality
for them ignorance is bliss
sand is leaking from hourglass
seconds ticking one by one 
 
bracing myself for the inevitable
mistress of destiny
special subject brutal reality
truth hurts but i’ll endure
 
the only other product of this love hate
shocked me 
when she revealed the secret of the suitcase
and by the way she doesn’t do funerals
 
there is a suitcase by the door
in it are folded neatly two outfits
one for mum one for dad
for when they take their final bow
 
 
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About cho wan yau

Teacher by day poet/writer by night. Words have been my first love and will be my last. As a child I locked myself into the toilet devouring books which transported me to distant lands. Poetry shared penned from 2009-2010 in a titanic struggle to stay sane at Heartbreak Hotel. Please check it out on chowanyau@wordpress.com. Any comments or feedback welcome. Why not share your story with me, because we all have one, don't we?

Posted on August 25, 2013, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. I love this poem. Period. I can’t say more because you’ve put me in your shoes.

  2. Yep cos we are both Chinese daughters no more needs to be said

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