old lady...
sometimes there's a moment-
a feeling- a smell-
that quickens her heart
and rings a soft bell...
but it's only a feeling-
all the faces are blank-
the voices are scrambled-
the space is all dank...
her memories are stolen-
and locked in a box-
the padlock is rusting
and the clocks have all stopped...
she sits there just staring-
surrounded by haze-
back and forth rocking-
as she breathes out her days...
Joy Weare.
30th March, 2007.
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