Like A Beacon
In London
every now and then
I get this craving
for my mother's food
I leave art galleries
in search of plantains
saltfish / sweet potatoes
I need this link
I need this touch
of home
swinging my bag
like a beacon
against the cold
© Grace Nichols 1984.
I found this poem in a greeeting card in a library book I was shelving, obviously used as a bookmark by a borrower. Someone had written the poem out by hand in what looked like a card from a son to a mother, but without the name of the poet. The message said
Mum
I saw this poem and thought of you.
Love
I thought the poem rang a bell, I may have even blogged it before? A quick Google brought it up. God Bless Google.
Anyway I will try and return it to its rightful owner. Mothers apperciate these sort of things, yes?
1 comment:
How sweet. I bet she wonders where that card went. Nice of you to try to get it back to her.
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