MONICA

MONICA

when you went
to see the doctor
pregnant with
what would be
your first
born

he saw your dazk hair, brown eyes
and made the mistake
of imagining you
one of his
tribe

but you
were no Queen
of the Levant, no Rose
of Sharon,

nor even English Rose
if truth be
told
you were French Viking
whose ancestors conquered,
subjugated
the poor English people
sat on the throne
speaking no English
for over
two hundred years

youngest daughter of z father
who found himself back
in France fighting
for King
and Country still
pretty much a teenager but
fighting
really well

but could we expect any
less of a descendant of Vikings

and before him
those who were murdered
for the steadfast faith
in the religion of Rome

this
part of the package, came free
with everything
hard to
escape what
history has made you, what
is locked into
the secret
of your DNA

and here is a picture
of you at Stalybridge pushing
me and my sister
in a pram over
the Tame River
before it flows
as the great
River Mersey

and here are you old
and frail
waiting in silence to
see what
Heaven
will make of you

Heaven here remembering
only when
you were young and lovely
that dark dark hair
flowing

and the Jewish doctor so
strongly believing
you must
be chosen person
one of God’s
first tribe

first in
something we all say
adoringly