Andrew Lansdown: a poem - of regret experienced by many sons

        Dearly Departed

So much of it, my childhood,
departed this world with you.

Though I lived it, I can bring back
only brief moments of it;

candle-smoke and a blue trike,
a Band-Aid on a skinned knee,

your bosomy hugs during
nights of dread dreams about ... what?

Mother, I meant to ask you
so many things about me,

so many whens, hows and whys
that can never now be known.

The loss of both your presence
and my history presses on me

as an ever-present absence.

                   Andrew Lansdown