[Image from Flickr]
The cat purred on her lap, content beneath
fingers warped with age and toil. Looking out
on the garden, modest yet well-tended,
she mused on the past, dropped the gates on who
she’d been – had had to be, for him. The chair
rocked back and forth, lending rhythm to the
flow of memories of then. A person
much different she’d been, someone else in
this skin now changed: a warden to youthful
rage, when he’d not known how to control it.
A figure of sometimes brutal correction,
temperer of his darker self. She smiled.
It had helped. She just hoped he remembered
the real lesson: keep safe all honest love.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]