The Power of Words

My mother was talking to her friend and I was drawing fruit on an Izal toilet roll. Only because we didn’t have any writing paper and Izal because it was the cheapest Unfortunately it was shiny and thin And my wax crayons wouldn’t stay on it very well so I had to press down hard to colour the fruit in. The friend said why is she doing that on the toilet roll? My mother replied, she’s different. I went to a cousins wedding with my mother and I wore white flat shoes that were too big The woman next door had given them. I stuffed the confetti into the toes Aunt Mary was watching and raised her brows, sniffed her nose And said, why is she doing that with the confetti? My mother sighed and replied, she’s different. I read the Bunty book annual, a Christmas gift at that time. It had an address for R.A.D.A. I wrote and asked for an audition to act out in a play Whilst waiting for a reply my parents took us all to live in South Africa a long way away. My father questioned, why is she so angry My mother said, she’s different. My mother died at the age of 90, my father gone ten years before I cried when they wheeled her coffin past my pew And thought of how she never cuddled me as I grew I guess it was because my mother too was different.