Naomi

She was a complex woman Neither a this nor a that Sometimes she kissed her children Sometimes she knocked them flat She sang in the church each Sunday Jesus had stamped her card And nobody knew from her anthems She'd sat in a VD ward She'd had a wartime wedding No cake, just bread and spam Parachute silk for knickers A brush, a wringer, a pram She could flower beneath her husband She could freeze beneath his touch Sometimes she loved too little Sometimes she loved too much She saved for a lovely funeral No rationing on that day Her bones were veiled in linen With geraniums, all the way