Broad
In a Belfast sweatbox
slurred and steaming
a country voice dove into my ear.
'Jaysus. You're a hefty one.'
I believe it was a compliment
he thought
he paid.
These shoulders are broad.
My mother was a farmer's daughter
with a voice that stretched
across three fields.
From her, I gained
blue eyes
child bearing hips
and feet planted family tree trunk
to the ground.
From her, I learned
that self indulgence is a dirty word.
That it is important
to get the potatoes on the table
for your brothers
before you write the application
for the university.
She did both.
The first in the family to live by words
rather than by her hands
and she suffered uncharacteristically quiet
I think, for this.
It can be hard to explain the weight of paper.
In the church hall, after my great grandmother's funeral,
they turn over my palms
as they clasp my forearms
to see if I have yet managed
an honest day's work.
I have only one callous to show them.
The indentation
between the knuckles
of the middle finger
of my right hand.
The
last
best
thing
my mother
gave to me.
‘Broad’ from The Glassblower Dances © Rachel McCrum. Reprinted by kind permission of the author and Stewed Rhubarb Press, 2012.
In a Belfast sweatbox
slurred and steaming
a country voice dove into my ear.
'Jaysus. You're a hefty one.'
I believe it was a compliment
he thought
he paid.
These shoulders are broad.
My mother was a farmer's daughter
with a voice that stretched
across three fields.
From her, I gained
blue eyes
child bearing hips
and feet planted family tree trunk
to the ground.
From her, I learned
that self indulgence is a dirty word.
That it is important
to get the potatoes on the table
for your brothers
before you write the application
for the university.
She did both.
The first in the family to live by words
rather than by her hands
and she suffered uncharacteristically quiet
I think, for this.
It can be hard to explain the weight of paper.
In the church hall, after my great grandmother's funeral,
they turn over my palms
as they clasp my forearms
to see if I have yet managed
an honest day's work.
I have only one callous to show them.
The indentation
between the knuckles
of the middle finger
of my right hand.
The
last
best
thing
my mother
gave to me.
‘Broad’ from The Glassblower Dances © Rachel McCrum. Reprinted by kind permission of the author and Stewed Rhubarb Press, 2012.
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