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More questions than answers, by Britta Benson

Truth be told, ‘More questions than answers’ could be the title for any given day in my life. Today is my mum’s birthday. She would have been 79. I went for a very long walk, and then, once I got back, I put a candle on my window sill. Doesn’t seem like much, but for me, it counts, it helps, it feels important.

More questions than answers

One candle on my window sill

for the seventy six birthdays she celebrated

and the three that have passed since her death.

After that, the maths get complicated. Debatable.

Can I add up across different time zones?

Can I itemize confessions, smiles and memories?

Do I count all the fragments of the heart,

of silliness and wonder, or do I simply guess

a ridiculous number, random and beautiful,

to at least make a start? Will I double it?

Times it by tree, four, a million, enough?

One candle on my window sill,

a flicker of truth, reaching out, reaching in.

How can I count, tally up, when she still inspires,

comforts, works her magic and spreads her light?

My one and only, near, far, present, gone, mum.


5 thoughts on “More questions than answers, by Britta Benson

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