Tuesday Poem

Whistling Mummy

Noise in the shape
Of words whistling
Contorted into
Breath that smells
Of death approaching
Slowly sour
Patching memories
Only she can enter

Mummy no longer
She’s an old woman
Without teeth
Who makes strange
Mockery of a love
Strained in the
Best of times

Monsters are
Our shadows
On walls etched
With the grief of

I find I cannot
Leave anything
Behind I fear
Neither can

Who must be


In this broken
World we
Share I
Wonder if death
Will break us
apart shattering

a thought which
Is also a
The ties that bind
might set us both
Free as she

Wanders into
My dreams turning
The lock each night

Every night
I hold my breath

Wondering how long
She can

by Fawzia Afzal-Khan