I always held mum’s hand walking

to the museum. She always had such

feminine fingernails.

Shiny and strong.

Her skin was warm and soft

wrinkled by years she spent carving

building a future and a path,

A better way for me to follow .


We would walk over little

wooden bridges that crossed over

running streams.

Past the glass house

Victorian and conserved,

in a display of sunny arrays that

brought out her eyes.


Walking to the museum

Holding mum’s hand.





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s