To Anne – poem read at her memorial Singing to my Mother.
Sometimes I think the world is ugly and misshapen,
That whoever runs this whole shebang has got it wrong,
Calling in our numbers,
And, whether random or with purpose, they’re mistaken.
And pretending there is some celestial plan,
That such a loss contains a greater gain,
That there is something right about such pain,
Doesn’t make it so.
But if I can leave behind me, when I go,
The gift you have bestowed upon the world:
Your children, every one astounding,
Who even now, against such odds, astonish,
Whose inner strength and outer grasp of life admonish
My feeble fury,
Then I would be immensely proud,
As you must be.
And perhaps one day, despite my rage, I’ll concede
There might be cruel method in our master’s madness,
Lost to me now, but revealed, just fleetingly,
By your amazing legacy.
Rosemary Kay 2013