This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
She now Remembers them well, Still feels the effects each Time she looks and sees His photograph in the Family album, gazing Over Mother’s shoulder As she turns over pages. Just a child then. Some Days it seems yesterday, Other times seems ages. Mother stares at the page, Brushes a finger, over Uncle’s picture, smiles, Lets the finger linger. Secret games, Uncle Whispered, our little Secret, just between You and me. Mother
Says, he favoured you, Thought you the best. She looks away, too Much favoured, too Much touched and Too much fucked, she Says within, her voice Echoing down dark Childhood chambers. Remember that doll Your uncle bought you? Mother asks, not looking Around, waiting reply. Yes, she says. Remembers It well and more besides: The drawn curtains, dirty Games, the whispered Words, smells and hurts. She and the rag doll his Little girls and Mother Unknowing, kisses the Photograph and lets fall A sigh and gentle laugh. Mother turns the page And moves on to other Images, memories, and Yesterday’s photos with A running commentary. There is Uncle Dofhol Again, Mother says, see How he holds your hand, But how cross you looked Back then and what a Frown and silly gaze. She says nothing now, As she didn’t then, as
She remembers her long Childhood nights and days.