Poetry Pleases: Concentration
Joyce Worsfold's poem is quickly read, but it's significance is slow-burning and long-lasting.
After thirteen days of longing
They let me see her.
I put my lips to the glass
Cold glass.
We kiss but cannot touch.
My arms ache empty
Cold arms
Numb brain
Tearing pain.
I tremble with fear for her
Child of my womb.
To me who should be stronger
She communicates strength
She who once screamed at spiders
She who shrieked whenever I left her side.
She smiles and softly says
I shall adjust.
The guards
Cold eyes
Cold hearts
Curled lips
Sneer.
Anger flares in me
Threatens to envelop me
Blinds so I cannot see.
But she sees
Presses her lips to the glass.
The cold glass mists with the heat of her faith.
I warm my cheek against it.
Mummy, we must not hate
