These final moments of sleeping
cradle something which can never be
reclaimed. Like land and water, we
have shared the space, the companionship
of mother and child. Now posed in simple relief,
your marble body, your eyes closed appear, like a statue,
imagined of substance which might simply break.
Soon, you’ll wake up anew
to friends, books and independence strangers will measure
out with their invisible, impartial scales. In metamorphosis
quick as an intake of my breath, you’ll be dressed
in your first uniform. As swiftly, I’ll see you own it
and so will attempt to still a need to cry.
For all the years I’ve held back the stirring
of these things with a sentinel’s weakness, I break
the slumber of our moment by calling our your name.
"Morning Glory: is taken from Siobhan Harvey's recent collection, Cloudboy which won the 2013 Kathleen Grattan Poetry Award.
Some poetry books can be dipped into here and there. This is one I read straight through from beginning to end. It gains power as it goes, being an account of the author's relationship with her autistic son, and his difficulties entering school. The poem above is a lovely example of the sensitivity expressed in the collection.
Another poem from the collection, Cloudmother was earlier posted on the Tuesday Poem main hub site, with a commentary by the hub editor, Helen McKinlay, and Siobhan's own comments on the collection. To these, I have little to add, and recommend clicking through to read those comments, if you haven't already done so.
Thanks to Siobhan for permission to post "Morning Glory" here.