Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
We have an interesting relationship, my mum and I, it’s always been us against the world and Dad drifts by like a sailboat out there on the rough seas of the wide, wide ocean.
So it’s always been Mum and me, she so immaculately turned out and me a scruff-bag tomboy slouching at her side.
She’s perfect, my mum, in high-heeled boots as well-heeled as she, and long, flowing skirts wrapping around her bohemian ways, and long-sleeved tops that are always rustic like a warm autumn day.
She’s the best ever, the bee’s knees they say, and even though I know she cries, it’s fine because I’m there and she doesn’t need anyone else…I’ll see her through.
I watch her smile with my eyes and kiss the crooked lines beside hers; I run my hands through her silken hair and trace those thin spider’s webs decorating her arms with my fingers, we’re perfect you see, my mum and me.