Otter

My mum wants to know why I’ve never 

written a poem about her. She seems

upset. Is it because all I’ve handed down

to you is anxiety? she asks. No,

I reply, you were a wonderful mum. I think

back to the time in the old house when we

were little, when she set up a little table

in the garden, and she covered the table with

newspaper, and gave us paint and paper

to play with. She didn’t have to do this.

I’m painting an otter, I said, even though

the splodge on the page was nothing

resembling an otter. It’s the best otter

I’ve ever seen, my mum replied. And she put it

on the fridge, and it stayed there for years,

and she passed on so much more to me

than just anxiety – a mess can be

an otter; a wounded leopard, love.

Joshua Seigal

(published in The Relationship Expert)