Dear, Dear Lady
Dear, dear lady, with crumpled
tissue paper skin and
spidery fingers fretting hanky,
'Couldn't find cannister,
don't know where it is, Em. '
Silent me knows is always in the same place.
Tea bag, two spoons sugar
in white half-filled china cup,
rose patterned napkin neatly
folded close by and ready
for too frequent spills ..
Safety first: neither too hot or full, m' dear.
Old phone trit.trit.trits,
her fingers fidget fear of bad news,
mustn't be, can't be..
I answer, 'Fine, yes,
you'll be here later? Thank you!'
Thank goodness, Norma won't be lonely.
How that small lined face pinks -
Unusually aware day and date,
second Thursday in month,
visitor visits, tea biscuits in larder,
hair to comb, best shoes to wear..
A sweetly smiling day to come..
'Do I have to have a bath?'
'Nurse was here yesterday, love,
you're fresh as a daisy.'
Fidgeting stops, smile starts,
'Thursday, Betty comes'..
Sad, so sad. What to say? Nothing's best.
Stir porridge, my tears trembling,
standing at Norma's side;
should I remind her that
sister Betty died near ten years ago?
It's so sad to be eighty..
and becoming more forgetful every day..
This lovely woman, this fragile shell,
drove ambulances during the war,
WWII was her hell on earth,
she lost too many kith and kin.
Her mind still grieves.
Many would might say that deceit is a sin
Her visitor - Betty's wonderful daughter,
brings flowers or a small plant
and sings songs that Norma - with
a little reminder, sings and sways to
For two hours she comes alive.
And the Lord understands and - forgives.
Copyright © Emma Green | Year Posted 2016
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