For My Beautiful Mum
“Getting raped,
At ‘sweet 16’,
Wasn’t very nice!”
I said to Robert,
“But sometimes our lives
Aren’t always filled –
Just with sugar and spice!”
Mum taught me how to ride –
When I was just a little boy,
“Put your butt down into that saddle,
Look straight ahead, elbows in,
Grip with your legs – straighten your back,
C’mon!
Your body
Looks like a half empty
Potato sack!
But your horse – is a living,
Precious, beautiful thing,
Not just another ‘pet’ or toy,
And where it goes, well
It may have many ‘other’ plans –
Take a good grip on those reigns,
Son – you’re in charge –
It’s all in the way
You hold your hands…”
“Getting raped,”
I said to Robert,
“Life can be a bitch –
I wish the bloke that did it
Would spend the rest of his days,
In some urine, and feces filled
Ditch!
Stuffed me right up, it did!
For the better part of
Thirty years,
Filled my life,
With an empty loneliness –
Lots of anger, fears and tears!
“But getting raped”
I said to Robert,
“Wasn’t the worst thing –
That ever happened to me,
If it hadn’t happened,
I wouldn’t be writing
This poem – you see…
My dear mum,
She knew a thing or two,
“When riding, son
You’re in complete control –
Of just how your life
Will unfurl…”
If I hadn’t got raped,
I wouldn’t be writing
This poem –
And busy making
So many other
Wonderful plans…
She knew a thing or two,
My mum –
That beautiful girl –
“Your horse,”
She said,
“May have other plans,
But just ‘how’ – and ‘happy’
You travel,
Well –you’re in charge –
It’s all in the way
You hold your hands!”
Tim Barritt. 14.7.10.
