a mother is a paperclip
Winner of Hedgehog Press’ A slim volume (4) competition in 2022, is Karen’s debut poetry collection, to be published by Hedgehog in 2023.
This is essentially my homage to motherhood- because it is important and should empower women – not reduce them to invisibility. Mothers, generally, are the ones who hold things together within a family.
A mother’s shaping – the urgency of maternal drive, what nestles buried within the small print, lies here. The raw, changing tides of motherhood, seen as ever-evolving transformation, are reflected through narrative cycle and more universally.
Deep-seated longing for a child, when carrying to term seems endlessly thwarted, gives way to stomach-fluttering joy in new-borns. Bitingly acute fears, sometimes tiger-rage, when children are hurt, are forensically examined – through to the bitter-sweetness of their flight.
Once motherhood takes hold – there is no letting go. And in that clasp, all within the nest is held as safely as love can make it.
A mother is a paperclip’ is a timeless collection with poems so alive to language they animate and vitalise the ‘fulsome dark’ of motherhood in all its joys, fears, and furies.
Karen Francis ‘nails it’ for motherhood in ‘a mother is a paperclip’. In these poems the ‘essential threads of life’ are woven into a magical tapestry in which personal stories are depicted with a touching realism. Reference to Animal Myth and Legends as established as that of Tawaret the Ancient Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility widen the scope and bring to the fore a sense of ‘mother as archetype’.
This debut by Karen Francis reads like a love letter to motherhood – not schmalzy or sickly sweet – this is a warts and all examination of the ups and downs of being a parent (and a grandparent). Full of tenderness and innovative use of language – Karen takes us on a journey and keeps us right there with her through every small and major bump in the road – showing us that you never stop being a parent, however old your children are.
From the book…
Ultimately a mother is a paperclip
epitomises
unconditional love, care –
(it’s in the small print)
if you have children
you keep going, you endure
do whatever it takes
you hold them clasped
always, give context, lend strength,
separate, yet bound
A window for breakfast
takes time and patience –
gather it up carefully from the edges
pull it together with some intricate folding
(the corners are a bit tricky to be honest)-
until the whole thing can be crammed intact
into my mouth, and swallow –
down with a mug of strong breakfast tea
As it springs back into shape
I feel the burgeoning of those carefully selected items
I’d placed in the frame yesterday –
family, lawn-sprawled, laughing
at the babies splashing in the paddling pool,
gasping at the shock-shiver wetness of water
one cat tail-flicking in irritation at nap disturbance
the other fleeing from arcs of splash,
last of the picnic debris awash on the blanket
making time for each other
amid kite flying
the admiring of bird clouds
and extracting the littles from the new flower beds
and I rub my stomach gently, feeling a slight indigestion
(probably the kite strings getting twisted)
but happily, full –
knowing I can now keep it forever
to lick on the chill lonely days.