Belonging

And my mother is trying to tell me something in a voice I don't understand and I'm listening hard, worrying she'll think I'm a teenager again, flaunting in front of her and refusing to listen and Mama I say I am listening but I'm not sure what you want and I revert to her old name Mama, offering my hair for a brush and a braid, it will hurt, it always does. A carer comes in to paint her nails and I say No! And the carer says she always liked to look smart and I say but she's past that now and the carer says how would you know? I'm angry, not wanting to hear a stranger knows my mother better than I do, my mother whispers, rwy'n ar goll I lean in, she pats my hand, takes a chunk of my hair, ready for me to lead her on. rwy'n ar goll I'm lost