Nana

With the cold on her clothes
And the beer on her breath,
She bent down and kissed me,
Her face white as death,

And she sang me a song
They all loved in the snug
And her hands held the scent
Of the fumes and the fug.

The bulb burned so brightly
As my Nana sang on
That its image stayed with me
When my Nana had gone.

The filament, the element,
Of that moment still lingers,
The pale face, the sad song,
The ice of her fingers.

She rose from my bed
And she paused by my door,
Then she switched off the light
And I saw her no more.

David Hulme