On cold days, from the kitchen window
I have seen her, walking the path where her ashes lie.
A winter woman, my father called her.
There was an implication of stone
but I thought of icicles above the window
trapping time in bubbles of air.
Such pains she took to teach me
the steps of a dance I would need
for my wedding, and the days thereafter.
She occupies this chair in which I sit
slipping yarn to make the stitch,
the memory in my fingers completing the task.
MT Taylor’s work has appeared in The Interpreter’s House, Glasgow Review of Books, Ink Sweat and Tears, The Lake, Algebra of Owls, Ofi Press, Under the Radar and Northwords. She has worked as a librarian in Fife, Aberdeenshire, and Edinburgh and now lives in Glasgow. She has four children who still talk to her, and who she still frequently interrupts.