maybe the reader has never heard of Calabria,
it’s found in the toe part of Italy,
the friendlier and wilder part of the penisular,
and nearer to earth than Sicily.
The mothers in Calabria are a strange breed,
they are craftsmen and cooks from birth,
experts in preserving food and knitting,
they are the best mothers on earth.
When you are eating your cornflakes,
she is already preparing the ragu’ for lunch,
the kitchen smells of coffee and onion,
ah, the calabrese are a funny old bunch.
She will open the windows wide in winter,
to eliminate the smell of fried chicken,
and then in heat of a summertime heatwave,
she will scream at you when you have no socks on.
She will ask her daughter not to come home late,
even though Elisa is now thirty five,
The mother who rarely ventures outside,
only to the church when someone close has died.
She is the doctor and a priest,
a good knitter and a witch,
she is the excellent cook of rustic meals,
and only in wisdom she is rich.
she will ask you at Christmas,
what shall we prepare for the feast of new year?
she will always smell meticulously fresh eggs,
and then you have to do the same as her!
Ruvina Mia she will yell,
My Ruin is the translation,
a saying often said in the south,
just to show their frustration.
Yes mothers in Calabria are a different breed,
warm hearted , kind and forever giving,
i love travelling down to her,
you the reader, don’t know what you are missing!
Home made cakes , home grown food,
three course meals every sitting,
eat like a king, from the food of the poor,
this is the life, with delicious baking.
Mariuzza, the mother of Elisa,
she is the real diamond in the rough,
i prefer the mother of Elisa,
Mine? sorry, i have already written enough!!

©D.Hobson 2013

Published in the Anthology “A Mother To Me” September 2013 with Forward Poetry UK