My love in life was seeing the world.
To be precise, it was sunning my soul.
I came alive on my summer holiday:
my skin could cope with all those rays.
My problem was, I couldn’t see beyond
those speckles of sun. I was just too fond
of easy-bronzed skin to see that my girls
were curled to wizened, before-their-time whirls.
A strip of hurt they might just tolerate
but, in later years, they felt victims of Fate.
It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t really know
that love and abuse could be bedfellows.
I thank the wisdom of my first-girl is called
to cancel the bits that left her appalled.
She learnt from me how to be what I’m not:
she’s now reaching out to heal what I hurt.