Renimisce Poem by Dan Brown

The contorting lines in her glowing face,
portray her emotions with mesmerizing grace.
They rise and fall like an ebbing tide;
both a cover for what’s hidden inside.

Her wise, old eyes sparkle, momentarily,
then fall to greyness as a cloud passes.
She knows I see that solitary tear
so asks, quietly, for her glasses.

Her crinkled skin looks fragile and worn.
Her voice shows her heart is tattered and torn.
Shawl ‘cross knees and hair in a bun.
Silvery white like that of a gun.

Young I may be, but I can sense the feeling
In her voice. The happiness of one Christmas Day.
The sadness she felt when her Father
passed away.

She tells of her time during the war.
Her time as a post-mistress, and all before.
Her care-free childhood; running through streams.
Running through fields, chasing her dreams.

Her favourite memory is of dancing
one New Year’s Eve, with a tall, dark, handsome man.
He told her that night, he’d follow her everywhere.
And, indeed, he is beside her, asleep in his chair.





I sit before her, quiet as a mouse.
Enveloped by the nostalgia inside this house.
If walls could talk, what’d they say?
If walls had hair, would IT be grey?

She doesn’t like today; the rules, the children.
But I’m different she says. I’m special.
I haven’t been brainwashed she says. Like the others.
I promise her I won’t change. I’ll make her proud.

Her chest heaved with every breath,
her heart slowing down to its inevitable death.
She met my eyes, and smiled in that way.
Reassuring me we’ll meet one day.