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’.