I Stayed Up Late Talking to Mum

Washed out of gossip
we moved onto the meaning
        within it all.

My mother's agony
of nursing her mother, my Nan,
in her last days. Nan's eye
bulging out so far
it had to be pushed back in; the life 
sucking out of her. Connie
        leaving us.

Mum carried the shock around
like a First World War soldier,
twitching at times when we talked.
I nursed her in my little way,
my turn to be mother, easing out
from her soul the shrapnel memories,
over many nights.

           Each time
with less tears, less pain, more
remembering of happier times, joking
the way Nan would have liked.