Aide Mémoire
Were she alive I’d still be phoning
my sister on a Sunday
to ask ‘what do you remember?’
about this that or the other thing
when we were together.
Without her I’m diminished –
she went into the dark
taking totally away
her store of images and phrases
coloured and textured
that enriched me when she responded
‘yes, I remember, and also....’
What if some were dreamed up,
embellished, enlarged,
made brighter or darker?
They were fuller than mine, richer,
more grounded, more populated,
part of a long story. Today
I’ve been wanting to ask
‘what was it about that Mrs Gray,
who came to our house to stay
so our parents could have
some rare short time away?
She was their friend, and trusted.
Why did we dislike her so much?’
Maybe my sister would say
‘don’t you remember
how she would frown,
and not hear us? Her cooking!?
How dismal mealtimes were?’
I think I recall Mrs Gray,
come for a long stay later,
silent, motionless all day
on the settee, staring straight ahead.
She’d lost her son (in the War)
and her husband before that.
To the living she no longer
had anything to say.
Goodbye again, Mrs Gray.
Goodbye again, sister.
Wednesday 13 January 2009
Max Richards
Doncaster, Victoria
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