Thunder ...

thunder

and thoughts of an old death –

Good Friday

Thoughts of my mother ...

Thoughts of my mother

float in from nowhere.

Now I’m the age she died.

How old she seemed! Much older

than I feel. And although 

I’m alone as she was, I’m 

not lonely, bitter, aimless, unfulfilled.

Poor little Mum, I think. I learned 

in my long life how to be happy, so

she must have done right by me after all.

 

All those things ...

all those things

we were never free to do –

longing

In the lovely late afternoon ...

In the lovely late afternoon

my cat and I meet in the sunroom

in front of tree-surrounded windows.

I whisper to her, bending close.

I tell her she is the most treasured 

of beings, the most beautiful, and

the sweetest, the kindest, the smartest.

Her continuous purr as I stroke her fur

gives the same message back to me.

You young lads ...

You young lads with bright faces

and quick, sudden movements,

you don’t even see this old lady

walking with a stick, much less realise

how startling you are to her, darting

so close and so unexpectedly —

not doing anything wrong, just unaware

that some of us can’t move anywhere

near as fast as you, to get out of the way,

and have become fearful of falling.