The Old Woman

The old woman
Moved slowly
As she wandered
From room to room
Carefully placing
One foot ahead of the other
For fear of falling
She would pause
And touch items
That meant so much to her
She makes her way to the kitchen
And prepares herself
A cup of tea
Slowly she makes her way to her favourite chair
That sits facing the front yard and street
And starts to go through
Old photos
Photos that are becoming
Worn with age
And handling
Daily she sorts through
Her pictures
Pictures of when she was young
And beautiful
Pictures of her husband
Long gone
She can barely
Remember how he looked
And her children
She sorts through the years
Their growing years
Their marriages
There children
Her eyesight
So diminished
She can barely focus on the faces
She gets mixed up
Which child belongs to who
She sits
With just memories
And old pictures
No longer does anyone
Stop in to visit
No longer does the phone ring
Perhaps the phone does ring
And she has not heard it
Or it is out of order
She makes sure that the phone is on the hook
Just in case
One of the children
Might call
She understands
They have their own life
They are busy
She remembers her own
Busy life
And does not think she is hurt
By their absence
She picks up one picture
She remembers the day
It was taken
She made sure that the children
Wore their best
For this was a family picture
She made sure
The hairdresser did her hair
Just right
Other pictures she picked up
Turning back the years
Recalling the very moment
The camera snapped the image
She looked about the room
Remembering the laughter
And the tears
She glanced over at the dining room
Remembering the meals
And the children all seated
Around it
No longer does anyone sit there
She sits and eats alone
Carrying a plate from her kitchen
She seats herself
In her favourite chair
And stares out the window
Watching the neighbours children
And the cars going by
One after another
The television is blaring
But she is not watching it
Just noise
Breaking the so silent room
She sits in her chair
With her memories
Was it Christmas
The last time
I saw the children
Perhaps it was
It seems so long ago
I think Easter
Will soon be upon us
And I will see them then
A meal here
Or a meal there
She leans back
Picks up the pictures again
She sits
All alone
In an empty house
With just her memories
And her pictures.

Gail Adams
Author of the books, ‘Heaven and Earth and In Between’.

The Young Girl

She was huddled inside the shelter
At a bus stop
Sheltered from the cold
And the wind
She appeared upset
And cold
For the clothing she wore
Was barely enough to cover
Her small body
Her look was distant
Really not caring
If the bus arrived or not
I wondered what her plight was
Where was she going
Where had she been
Her hair was dishevelled
And her summer weight jacket
Too thin
For the coldness of winter
Her thin legs
Covered with tight jeans
Ripped at the knees
Running shoes on
Seemingly too big for her feet
My heart seemed to feel
For this young lady
Who seemed to be
No older than sixteen
The time of night
Was not for a young lady
To be on her own
She did not appear
To be coming
Or going
To work
She seemed too young
And I wondered where
Her family was
Did they know of her whereabouts
Did they care
A young teen
Barely past ten
And now considered
Grown up
I pulled my car over
To ask if she needed help
Or a ride
I called from my car
But she paid no attention
Not even turning her head
She then stepped
Out of the shelter
And started making her way
Down the sidewalk
Appearing not to care
In which direction she walked
Just walking
Somewhere
No where
All alone
In a busy city
I watched as she made her way
Down the block and around the corner
And wondered if I had frightened her
And did she have plans to catch a bus
Or was she in the shelter
For warmth from the cold
I will never know
About this young lady
Never know what became of her
What she had planned to do that evening
Or where she lived
Or what her situation was
A young girl, barely over ten
Alone in the world
It seemed
Where would she sleep that night
And when was her last meal
And how many others are out there
Alone
Cold
Hungry
With no one to care
If they make it through the night
Or not.

Gail Adams
Author of the books, ‘Heaven and Earth and In Between'.