Timelessly cocooned in light

Four Women
by John Whitworth

Four women stand on the gravel path
With an ivied wall behind,
My pretty mother, my granny, my gran
(The two old ladies didn't get on
But I didn't know that) and Auntie Cath,
My mother's Scottish friend.

That's me, fat-legged. I've one hand held
In Mummy's, and the other
Is tugging poor Granny right out of square
While Gran stands straight as a brigadier
And Auntie Cath cradles a new-born child
Who is possibly my brother.

This possible brother is swathed in lace
Which might be a christening gown,
We were churchy people, and Auntie Cath
Godmothered this mite in his lacy froth,
If it is my brother. Her plain, sweet face
Is canted smiling down.

Women and children are timelessly
Cocooned in light: my mother,
Her time so short, the two old trout
And my stepmother, (funny how things turn out),
All of them dead. Now there's only me
And the baby. If that's my brother.

From The Spectator, 16 September, 1989