The shadows on your face

A poem about my Mum at the end of her life. 

I’ve come again to feed you,

Through your plastic feeder cup,

As once you used to feed me,

Perched up high upon your lap.


And between each blended mouthful,

I watch the shadows trace,

Your inner thoughts and feelings,

As they play across your face.


A twitch of the eyebrow,

A squeeze of the eyes,

A pursing of the lips,

A muffling of cries.


And it seems as though the angels,

Are whispering in your ear,

Saying, Vera, we are with you,

For when your time is here.


And you talk to them in whispers,

A word or two, not more.

Perhaps you recognise them,

From the lives they had before.


In a pause between two mouthfuls,

You have slipped away in sleep,

Feeding cup is caught in limbo,

As I watch those shadows creep.


You are in a world beyond me,

One I cannot know,

And the movements on your face,

Are the only things that show.


You will wake again I’m sure,

And I’ll feed you some more tea,

Till you slip away again,

To a place I cannot be.


And I’ll sit here by your bedside,

As you come and go away,

Spending more time with those angels,

Than you do with me each day.


They seem to understand you,

In that peaceful, sleepy place,

While all I have to guide me,

Are the shadows on your face.