O Sabor da Poesia

"My mother went with no more warning
than a bright voice and a bad pain.
Home from school on a June morning
and where the brook goes under the lane
I saw the back of a shocking white
ambulance drawing away from the gate.
She never returned and I never saw
her buried. So a romance began.
The ivy-mother turned into a tree
that still hops away like a rainbow down
the avenue as I approach.
My tendrils are the ones that clutch.
I made a life for her over the years."1
PATRICIA BEER
1 BEER, Patricia - Collected Poems. Manchester: Carcanet Press, 1990