It’s the colour of forget me nots,
a beautiful long light blue shawl,
used now as a tablecloth,
a way of remembering
those days I suppose.
It hangs on the wash line,
stained by a spill of red wine,
remains of the house party,
celebrating your birth
and the four years since your return,
memories of Addis — more distant,
maybe not — somethings still vivid.
I regret the spill, despoiling the blue,
the stubbornness of the stain
lingering still, hanging on still.
An evocation of the way,
life turns unexpectedly.
The accident of your creation,
the battle of your birth,
the fight for your life
and the way you grew.
And now look at you,
there are no regrets of any kind.
In tribute to my daughter Beth Cullen and her work with people over this Earth
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