No I don’t want a cup of tea.
There is an acrid taste of vomit in my mouth.
Questions asked and I hear them.
I hear them like I’m underwater or in a bubble?
It’s this real or is it a dream.
My head hurts if I move it.
The tea the police man has given me is stone cold.
My tears are warm as they run down my cheeks and splash into the tea cup.
I wonder how many tea cups of tears I will cry.
Enough to fill an ocean?
Rushing now that loud noise in my head.
Technicolour scenes I cannot pause or mute.
Play over and over.
Although my eyes are closed I still see it play.
I press my fingers hard into my temples as if they are stop buttons on a memory remote control
but batteries are dead nothing can stop it.
I’m not wearing any shoes.
My feet are dirty there is a scratch on my left ankle.
Dirt from my front garden I’d been out there all day pulling up privit hedges.
That’s where I was when my world changed standing barefoot grounded.in the April sunshine.
Surrounded by my children in the late afternoon I’ll just finish clearing up this mess then we will go down to pick up your Nan I told them.
A car pulled up in front of my house.
Suddenly I knew, that gut feeling. I felt it physical pain.
I caught my breath and I knew he had killed her.
My Mam. The only one I’d ever known my alcoholic father had finally done it.
The button was pressed the flashbacks began
The chaos was real.
I sorted out my children and got in the car stood in the door way of her flat.
I hear him singing in my head..
You are my sunshine my only sunshine…
Dark cloud of blood on her carpet marking where she had fallen hitting her head.
Her china cup, Mam inscribed in gold letters half full of cold tea on the window ledge.
Photos of my children on the walls I can smell olobis oil on a tissue she had used.
I hear a shrill scream then a gutteral howl. The cine film of memories in my head plays on.
The scream is mine. No I don’t want tea I want my Mam back.