‘Ma’
© Joe Canning 2016. All Rights Reserved.

There was very little of her.
Seven stones or thereabouts.
But a miniature powerhouse.
She broke water nine times.

We followed her to church
On Sundays, in a line.
Like goslings or chicks
Following the natural order.

She washed our faces
Prayed when we were away
Slapped our backsides
She’d feel bad. but she was right.

Funny thing this cycle.
Today the church comes to her.
We visit on a rota basis,
We take turns at washing her face.

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