Her Tribute
This is a piece I wrote in 2011, when I was working in St Michael’s Estate on my piece HISTORY. It’s inspired by all the women I was hearing about and working with on the Estate at the time. The format of the play changed and this piece didn’t end up as part of the final production. Last year, I read this piece at ‘Poetry For Breakfast’ at Dublin Culture Connects, and I decided to take it out and work on it again. Posting it today for the day that’s in it.
Thanks to Colm Keegan, who also read his work on the day, for the Title!
She thought about them before they came and she vomited,
She sat in the snug and heard old wive’s tales,
They tore her when they were born and she didn’t know what to do.
She was afraid of purgatory, child molesters and postnatal depression. She was afraid of blog posts, podcasts and well-meaning advice.
She didn’t have the answers,
She hadn’t read the books,
She had no-one,
then everyone
And then no-one again.
She put water on their heads and got so drunk she couldn’t see, she bought them polyester and cotton, she told them her secrets, her feelings, and fears, she washed them, she supported their heads, she named them and their names suited them.
She took them out and showed them to people, she carried them downstairs, she took their buggies to the butchers, she was lonely, she watched the television, sometimes they cried too much, they weighed too much, they weighed too little, she got too much advice, she shouted at them, she wanted to kill them, she didn’t, she lived for them, she lived for them.
She dreamt about their futures, she balanced them on her hips, she washed their faces with her thumbs, she fell down the stairs and they fell down with her, they hit her, she hit them back, she sat on the kitchen floor and they looked at her, she wiped the units, she made a pot of tea, she gave them treats and ultimatums and then she changed her mind.
She drank whiskey in bed and they watched her, she took them to football matches, she taught them dancing, she cried at their tv programs, she left their sick on her clothes for days, she inhaled their shit, she told them she loved them, she loved them, she loved them, she loved them… she held their hands, she held onto her secrets now, because now they could understand, she left them with their aunts, she put herself first, she couldn’t let go of them, she held onto them, she screamed at them, she felt their tears and their snots through the cotton of her t-shirt, she crushed their head lice with her nails, she signed their homework, she always put them first.
She was confident, she was capable, she warned them of what was out there, she gave them lollipops, she read them stories, she took them up high to look down, she put ribbons in their hair, she let them off, she was their Santa Claus, she was their nurse, she was their guardian angel, she told them to go off and play while she smoked, she smoked and they smoked with her, she let them drink cider, she let them drink wine, she didn’t cook the potatoes, she made them peel the carrots, she burned them with the kettle, she burned them in the bath, she let them have nightmares, she left them unsupervised, she told them to lose weight, she wouldn’t let them do their own thing, she hated their girlfriends, she sent them on their way, she put one hundred pounds in a card, she made their father teach them to drive, she gave them sleeping pills, she took sleeping pills and so did they.
She let them wet their mattresses, she bought them barbies, she heard them calling but she didn’t answer, she let them learn about life from soap operas and America, she kissed them on the forehead, she bought them books, she bought them paints and they sniffed glue, she padlocked the doors so they couldn’t get in, she locked the doors so they couldn’t get out, she stayed up all night, she watched them sleep, she pleaded with them to breathe, she breathed so they could, she lived so they could live, she suffered so they wouldn’t have to, she was their torturer, their tormenter, she was all they could talk about. She was their mother.
She learned long division, geography and Irish for them, she begged for food for them, she fought with their father’s, she defended them to teacher’s priests and guards, she questioned their morals they questioned hers, she let them kiss boys in the street, she let them wear what they liked, she let them starve, she read their diaries, she looked in shoeboxes in their rooms, she threatened drug dealers, she started committees, she bought the cheapest bread, she learned about the internet, she bought them keys for doors and sovereign rings, she bought them runners and gold chains with their names on them.
She didn’t say the right thing, she never learned the right words, she didn’t give them what they needed. She did the best with what she had, she was perfect, she was their hero, she couldn’t be replaced, she couldn’t be topped, she made the best-scrambled eggs, she was always there for them, she always felt needed.
She cried at their anger, she told them to leave, she didn’t answer the door to them, she worried about them, she worried about them, she tried to forget them, she wrote letters of reconciliation, she complained about them to each other, she talked about them to strangers in the street. None of her talking did any good, so she bought a new suite of furniture, she polished the glass, she made spaghetti on toast, she mopped the lino, she shouted at them from the balcony, she made them look after each other, she taught them right and wrong, she taught them curse words, and poems and songs about Ireland, she taught them Social Welfare, she taught them fighting and scrapping and keeping their heads up. She was their mother. This is her tribute.
She spent days alone, they left their children with her and never came back, they sold her television, the ripped up the lino looking for notes but found none, they gave her black eyes and more grandchildren, she took them for carvery dinners, they went to the zoo, they sent picture messages to each other, they wrote to each other on the internet, they told her about their husbands, their wives threw them out, they brought her up her shopping, they sent her photos of their children, they had parties with cakes with too much sugar, with breaded chicken and vodka from plastic bottles, with singing and plastic signs, they put water on babies heads, they wore freshly picked flowers, they danced to old records, their neighbors sang songs, they sat through Christmases, they sat through birthdays, courts, appointments and gatherings.
She was their mother, they put each other through windows, through walls, through plasterboard and damp, she loved them all the same, she loved them all the while. She was their mother, and she was sorry for all the times when she couldn’t be. She did her best with the tools she had. She did her best, with the tools she had.
They watched her grow weak, they held her hand, they were with her always, they talked about her on the phone to each other, to their lovers, to lawyers, guards, and doctors, she fell downstairs and they fell down with her.
She didn’t know what to say and neither did they, she said it all with smiles, with attempts and tears, they held each other, they weren’t all there, some wouldn’t come and she called out for them but they were too sick or too angry to be there, some had been buried years before, so she never said goodbye, she never said a word, she was their mother, their hearts broke, they collapsed on the bed, they didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want to let her go.
They stayed up all night looking through photographs, they carried her coffin, they talked about her in function rooms, they buttered white and brown bread, they made tea, they let ash burn her carpets, they rooted through her things, they threw out her tights and they never brought them to charity shops even though she had begged them too. They recycled her keepsakes, they wore her clothes and her jewelry, they reared their own children and they had days where they sat on the kitchen tiles missing her and their children sat beside them.