POETRY KITe ANTHOLOGY

MENDING NETS

When I heard you, new mother of a seven-year-old child,

Knotting for him the rustic threads of old folk tales

Together with your own, more-gentle, inventions,

Suddenly, my mind was whisked away over the years

To a day of thin sunlight in a Sussex seaside town

When I was just a child of your child’s age

And bleary-eyed, denied all sleep by a storm

That had gripped me in a terrified wakefulness

Throughout the long dark hours of a roaring night,

That had beaten its knucklebones on our cottage windows

And sizzled and raved and rattled the rafters of the world

And sent the fishing boats fleeing from the grasp of the sea.

A wisp of thunder hung over the tousled heights of the town

As I stood, among the cluster and clutter of tall, tarred sheds,

Watching a trawler man and his family mending their nets.

The legs of their wooden chairs dug deep in the sand and shale

As they plied needle and twine, restoring warp and weft,

Tying loose ends with sure fingers, patient and resolute.

Then back to you, new mother, you, in your wooden chair

In the haven of your kitchen, and the smile your words had woven

On the lips, half-lost to sleep, of the boy you cradled in your arms.

© W. Terry Fox 2009 - Cheshire Poet Laureate

A poem written to commemorate National Adoption Week 2009

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