Visit (new draft)

February 20, 2011

When my mother comes to visit, she brings my dad
and a pack of twelve quilted Andrex toilet tissues
half a pack of Weetabix – and since she has
started cutting down on dairy products
a carton of rice milk. My mother brings
Lancome samples she got from Boots:
white tubes inside of miniature packages
smaller than match boxes –
a tote bag she got as a free gift:
two purchases or more from Christian Dior –
she saved for the foundation
with my dad’s housekeeping.
When I move into my flat my mother brings me a plant
she brings me a card: two mice in tiny clothes
‘Good Luck in Your New Home’, when I get my degree
a card from them both, when he leaves the room
a twenty pound note, ‘don’t tell your dad’.
My mother brings the mail still coming to their bungalow:
letters from a bank, records like an echo, living in the past.
She brings me a jar of thick cut orange marmalade
bought from the women that lives round the corner
a cut out coupon from Woman’s Weekly.

I bring my mother a cup of tea:
White porcelain, pink roses
on a tiny tray, with a tiny spoon.
No sugar, a little milk.

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