Coral Hull: Poetry: William's Mongrels: Pushing The Pram

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: WILLIAM'S MONGRELS
PUSHING THE PRAM

i will buy back the house/ on the street where my
mother was pushing the pram/ on the street where
my smaller feet have walked/ where my smaller tears
have fallen/ down my cheeks & into the soil/ i will
reclaim what is mine/
                                there was a small blue swing/
creaking in the wind/ in the middle of an oval/ i
sat in it/ as snug as a tricycle seat/ holding onto
its red handles/ then i fell off & hit the ground/
my knees losing skin/ a stranger ran to pick me up/

& rusky who had been sitting by the swing of my well
being/ bit his leg/ my mother paid for the stitches/
now rusky is dead/ & where the small swing sat is a
huge council complex/ i wonder if the swing is
crushed beneath it/
                             when i was little i hung onto
the side of the pram/ & often my legs would ache/
then i stood on the front/ baby brendon lying deep
inside it & dale above him on a seat/
                                                       & my strong
mother pushing the pram/ down rose street into thorn/
with enchantment at its far end/ & me hanging onto
the side weighted by shopping/ & a brown weatherproof
bag containing sandwiches/ & faded plastic drink
bottles filled with red cordial & green/
                                                        i hung onto
the pram on the edge of an unfocused world/ i was
focusing on the pram wheels/ the world too big for
me to focus on/ endless & hazy & blue/ like i was
standing in the sky/ & the noise muffled & abstract
like memory or afternoon playgrounds/
                                                        i followed
the pram wheels/ all the way home from liverpool/
down cracked pavements/ down the little sloping
edges of gutters & across the streets/ passefield,
atkinson & gill avenue/ i only knew wheels & blueness
& my mother's pushing in her long brown skirt/
                                                                    & my
nan said: do you remember how determined she was?/
once she tied all the bed blankets onto the hood of
the pram/ because she wanted them dry cleaned/ &
she took the blanklets & you three kids & walked a
mile into liverpool/ & then back out again & then
back in to collect them/
                                   because your father wouldn't
drive her/ he would be sitting at home on the black
lounge laughing/ but your mother was determined not
to let him win/ i remember my brother crying/ my
legs & ankles aching/ i should be proud of her/ my
mother the pram pusher/ my mother the factory
worker/
            my nan said: she used to walk to liverpool
station if she missed the bus/ then catch the train
to lidcombe/ evading fares when she could/ then walk
another twenty minutes to lily plastics/ she was
tired by the time she got there/ i said: i know/ i
did it for twelve months/ but your mother did it for
twelve years/ & you're a lot younger than her/

then she would work like a dog until twenty past
eleven/ quality control, first aid, packing/ rubbing the
aching muscles of workers/ mending their bruised
& cut skin/ the boss had four fingers missing/ &
then she would come home again/ & when she got
back to rose street/ your father wouldn't let her sleep/
he'd come in drunk & abusing/ standing over her
bed/ i know/ i heard him/
                                      & then when she got up in
the morning/ to get you three kids off to school/
he'd be snoring/ she used to come around here/ &
she slept for a few hours in my bed/ before heading
into work again/ your mother walked to the factory
every day/ i know/ i cried for her/ my mother walked
to the factory alone/ she carried her bag & her old
blue coat in the winter

    

This website is part of my personal testimony that has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.

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