© Philip Monks, 2021
These two poems are for Mavis, a woman I worked with many years ago. She didn’t say much about it, but her teenage son regularly hit her. She was older than me and I was still quite young, and I felt odd knowing what was going on but not involved. Then she became ill and died. Her death, although a sort of sad resolution, felt to me like it left so much unresolved. Since then I’ve often thought about Mavis and her son. These two poems are for her.
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