O Mother

Sitting this morning

head in hand

staring at my bedroom wall,

I remember my mother

sitting like this

her tired eyes

boring holes into the sheetrock,

or the streetlight

outside our house.

I remember my mother

sitting like this,

I would ask her

what is it Mumma?

What are you thinking of?

And she would reply

nothing, oh nothing,

and she would get up

to get some more coffee

or to think some more

from the kitchen window.

Sitting like this

head in hand

in the mornings

boring my own holes

into my own sheetrock wall

or the telephone polls

outside my window,

I now know

what nothing is.