Monday, 2 July 2012


She is one to climb hills
with shoes that have no grip
It is not the destination
But the thrill of the expedition
Exclaiming her mantra amongst
Grubby leaves and gravel paths

She is one to collect knickknacks
Bathing in eccentricity on her mantel piece
Soon to be wrapped in vintage paper
Shipped long distance to old friends
With a scrawled note in loopy writing
Hope you like it. It reminded me of you

She ladles soup out generously filling
Rooms with hearty laughter
she comes across chaotic but is in control
she asks the questions that people think to say
and holds your gaze for a reply
Nodding knowingly

Delightfully quirky character grown
from the seeds of books of long ago
Pottering around drinking tea in
her personal library
she is written in the pages of history,
as peculiar, unconventional …crazy

Her heart is taken
to stray cats on empty streets
she rubs its belly playfully, cooing
a lone pedestrian eyes dart shiftily
Laughing as the cat ‘explores’ her abaya
Her love is genuine, her love was true

She died yesterday,
And I am left chasing after memories
Which seem just as sporadic as her
Clutching the fabric of time,
Indiscernible fluff floats in the wind
she was patchwork where there are now holes
she was to this world a stranger
and now after everything, she has returned

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