considering applying for a creative writing MA but just strated writing

[clemonz]

Thursday

My mother doesn't know them well,
but seems to now be out of breath,
sunk in the sofa. And I tell
her not to worry, it’s just death.

The usual questions start. What
can I say, or
how sad.

I try to make sense of it again, not
enthused
but speaking from where there is little fear.

I think it works.

Nothing resolved, but neither should it be.

She doesn’t look upset but it
has obviously made her think
about her cancer, and the bit
of life that she was at the brink.

*

As mother stops for tea, half through
a paper, I compose a new
verse on that; she checks her makeup
and quickly finishes the cup.

third verse to follow - next thursday.

i dunno, i like the rhythms of my poems, but am not sure if i'm just inadvertently deluding myself! i'm new to writing poetry