Nursing Home: Keith

He’s thin and slighty stooped

but the grey hair’s thick and wavy

and he moves at normal speed —

except when he’s with her.

Holding her hand 

or arm around her

he leads her to meals

or out to the sunny garden.

She turns to him

a gentle, vacant face.

He greets us cheerily,

eyes full of comprehension.

We realise he lives here 

to be with her.

He looks happy. 

So does she.

Cross-posted from my poetry blog, The Passionate Crone, from whence it is submitted to Poetry Pantry #101 at Poets United. 

[Poem #91]

Nursing Home: Bobbi

Bobbi walks quickly 

along the corridors,

keeping to the edges.

One day she tells me,

whispering:

‘I hurt my hip. Now 

I have to keep walking 

or it seizes up.

I feel conspicuous

and embarrassed.’

She is slim

in her neat slacks

and cardigan,

sweet face framed

by a short pageboy.

Her eyes widen

a moment and I glimpse 

fear, want to hug her 

but will not intrude

on her frail dignity.



Cross-posted from my poetry blog, The Passionate Crone, from whence it is submitted to Poetry Pantry #101 at Poets United. 

[Poem #90]

The Lady from Lombok

‘My husband beats me,’ she murmured,
eyes downcast, to Bill in reply to his praise
of her gentle beauty. Perhaps she thought
to reject an advance? I never saw a mark
on her delicate face, nor a bruise
on her dainty arm, and she didn’t move
like one with hidden injuries; she was lithe.

Nor did she, later, reject his advances.
I wasn’t with him on that trip. But I knew.



Cross-posted to my poetry blog The Passionate Crone, where it now also forms part of my 'Remembering Bali' series.

[Poem #89]