Hello Mum

It’s not what she hears that day No. It’s what she sees, The image very nearly killed her The neighbours say the scream was heard two blocks away Though she can’t recall hearing what was said No. It’s what she sees alright Even to this day, she can feel the envelope She can see the “WESTERN UNION” through the milky window She can see the “THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS…” What she doesn’t hear, is what the Telegram Boy had to say She still has the Telegram Its yellow parchment a little brittle, the typed words “HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR SON…” a little smudged, tears she guesses Though she doesn’t remember any tears, they came later Along with the pain of not knowing, and the sorrow of knowing Then almost a year to that day, it’s not what she hears But what every mother would want to see What every mother would want to feel And every mother would dearly love to hear “Hello mum, I’m home…” 8 May 2015 Craig Cornish’s Poetry Contest “A Mother’s Ears”