My Mother’s Grave by Rev John MacKenzie-Chisholm 3rd Prize 2023

It took me some time to find it

Though brought here in years gone by

Too small, then, to understand it

My elder brother and I

When the bereavement held passion

Dad tended the humble plants

That gave his sorrow expression

In this private ordinance.

He re-married, a young relation,

And started again from the bottom

But then came war to the nation

And this grave was forgotten

Deliberately perhaps

As if there were no question

But that our future steps

Must now command attention.

It took me some time to find it

With memory as a guide…

On entering I was reminded

To look on the left hand side

Turn in by the brooding summer-house

By the taps and the watering cans

To seek among those numerous

Memorials and names.

The key lay with the entries…

No need to search near the gate

I passed the tens and the twenties

Looking for a date

And then quite suddenly saw

Beside the foot-path way

Born tenth of March in 1894

Died 1930 on the twelfth of May.

It took me some time to find it

White marble, greyed with age

Submerged in the weeds around it

The ribs coming apart by this stage

One corner off, and cast

By person or persons unknown

Onto the muddy waste

Where once fresh pinks had grown.

I had to do something about it

And paid what I could afford

To have it cleaned and mended

Levelled up and restored

With Spanish marble chippings

Spread over the surface like snow

As white as the dress with its trimmings

She wore so long ago.

It took me some time to find it

On the eve of His Easter appearing

But there lay a question behind it

About my interfering

Was it consistent in one

Who believes in Resurrection?

And yet her name alone

Seemed to invite my protection

Under the gentle earth little can now remain

But when we meet together

On some quite different plane

Will we enjoy each other?

I who grew out of this grave

Found one last rite to do

For a mother I learned in time to love

But never actually knew.