On Being Like You
You fill your dim solitude
With crosswords, Countdown, and phone calls
(if you hear the ring).
I tower over you now when I visit,
Embarrassed by my strength as we edge our way to the shops -
You on my steadying arm.
Worse than your frailty
Is my fear as I watch for a glimpse of your fierce love,
Or outraged anger.
We sit together after lunch -
You snoring gently. I watch and wonder how often I've been told
I am the image of my mother.
Chrissie Williams, July 2003