by Emily Tucker
She gave me her face,
Her eyes, chin and lips,
Her winning half-smile,
Her courage, her gifts.
She moulded my hands,
Pushing flour and fat,
Welding wrists of treacle,
Formed by knuckles and taps.
She built me up tall,
Strong shoulders, straight spine,
Lifted me with her words,
Which I know sound like mine.
My face smiles from pictures,
Years before I was born.
Before my heart started beating,
Hers was battered and worn.
She gives me her faith,
Which she seals in her kiss.
All her shots left untaken,
She knows I can’t miss.
Emily Tucker | tophun.co.uk
Emily is a teacher and closet writer based in North London. She writes about films on her blog when she gets the time.