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This month I have a poem and editorial in Writers Forum on the ‘In my own words’ page.

This is the poem.

First day of Spring.

My mother flings windows open,
‘to let the devil out.’ She fastens
her Paisley-patterned apron,
gathers weapons of dirt destruction:
scrubbing brush, Ajax, bucket, mop.

I have to polish, but I like the way
the ‘Brasso’ uncovers lost treasure.
My fingers are licorice sticks,
as mother, streaming with sweat,
inspects a gleaming plate.
‘You’re doing a grand job.’
She rolls up Dandycord mats
and takes them outside to wash.
A glint of sunlight – our prints
already collecting dust.

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