Kerrin P Sharpe 2014

even before your mother
touches the black Madonna’s robe
or begs for a year of grace

Jo flies towards you through the pink
and white rose petals
above high winds and power cuts

you hear her first
and remember when you drew
a kaka in gouache

and coloured pencil
from a Gregg’s jelly card
these nights you light

the red-orange neck
of a candle to see
her scarlet under wings

to know she’ll always live
in the powdered wood of her eggs