Jenny Hockey Poetry
Jesus with Guinea Pigs
There’s always something to be done in our house.
But in between, my mum gets out her paints, completes
another Jesus and props his wet radiance on the easel,
his wounded body hanging there as I walk in from school,
fists clutching roadside grass grubbed up for Ginger
and Bobby Charlton squeaking their heads off in the shed.
Always that quiet conversation going on — something about
The Other Side, evidence of uncles who have crossed over.
Mum and Mr Sperring, the worry of his gifts.
The North, 64, August 2020
My poems also appear in 'Love', the latest Hexameter anthology,