- Phyllis
- by Christina Fletcher
Sunlight drifts through
her memories -
ever hopeful,
making the best of things.
A thrush darts across the lawn -
stop/start, stop/start -
almost a dance.
Attracted by the crusts she always cubes,
other birds swoop to grass.
'Lady Blackers - how nice to see you!'
They remind her of whistling.
Not the shrill blast of builders
but tunes in queues on dark days.
She remembers whistles, sirens
and shelters, children's excited whispers -
as though the whole thing was - well
what was it after all? Pulling through?
People somehow different?
A cool breeze chills her to the bone.
Soon it will be time to go in.
Nurse will arrive on the dot of five.
'Come along, Phyllis,' she'll say,
'take your tablets, there's a good girl.
It's time for tea. Your favourite -
fishpaste sandwiches.'
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