You'll be ok
I bless/break the digestive into little pieces to ease the passage
It doesn't seem to taste the same these days
How about another sip of tea?
Angled head inclined to awkwardness
a sipping sucking clumsy lip trembling bite at it
half a thimbleful clears the crumbs
I keep smiling and bless/break the sweetness of jaffa cake host into quarters
What's that you say?
Just a biscuit mum...
I can always manage a biscuit
said more from rote than commitment
There's no taste in any of it these days
I could be eating anything
Tongue cleaning round teeth and gums
fall on the bedclothes
catch in folds
for some reason to do perhaps with propriety
long lost standards
slipped a division or two
to fill the thirteen baskets
as if by some miracle
they will pass to the poor.
Blessing breaking smiling
offering all I can in the way of
Silently praying for the strength to be what I can
be what's needed
who are we mum
you and I?
somehow reflecting dignity identity
into a hopelessly awkward canvas
Nothing is lost to a god who counts sparrows
I hope not
but evidence is a bit thin
on this side of the veil.