Ash Wednesday nun shouts.
Little girl thinks:
‘Won’t cry. Won’t cry.’
The will dies, the eyes fill.
The will has turned to chalk dust
watched by the Virgin Mary
and her row of green vases.
Dum diddley-dum.’
Already through the chalk dust
the knowledge there must be
kinder dust than these holy ashes.
Fringe thumb-budged, ash smudged.
She rubbed it off.
Ο her colour supplement one,
her mug-clutching, play-grouped son.
Thou shalt honour thy Father and thy Mother
by calling them Clare and Simon.
Thou shalt toil diligently
at creative writing and finger painting.
Thou shalt exercise divergent thinking
at all times.
Pill spaced
brown faced
how will you know her?
1974