Maman

Maman

By Jude kyrie

The old cottage is a cacophony of memories.

Even the firelight dances in joy

 to see me again.
Outside the light dusting of snow
 on the barren moor.
Bringing a Christmas card look
 to the old place.

Returning home after all these years 
is a haunted thing.
I hear Maman her soft French accent
 like silver bells.
Come to me my petit 
come kiss Maman.

I am a little boy once more
 no longer a middle aged man.
I whisper into the room 
I am here Maman,
 Here, come hold me.
Wash away the years 
Wash away my sin’s.

But the moon breaks through
 the winter clouds.
The snow ontinues to silence
 the already quiet Moor.
It glows in purity like she did.

And I know she is only a faded 
memory of my boyhood.
I pick up her picture 
in a silver frame on the mantle.
Holding it to my lips I kiss her softly.
The glass cold as death to my lips.
But her warmth fills me.

I see another ghost of a small boy
He is in the arms of a beautiful lady.
I think it is me.
I whisper to her
in her native French
je t'aime ma petite fleur
I love you my little flower.
.