Belief Poem by Jeff Hobbs

She lives in the back part of the house,
The old lady,
I've never seen her but they tell me
She is there.
I can imagine her,
Sitting in an old, cracked rocking chair,
A crocheted shawl over her bony frame,
Grey hair over a still golden expression,
Greyer eyes staring out at...
A knock on the door,
Doctors go in and out,
Instructions all sound vaguely familiar,
Is she really there?
The traffic goes up and down the hill
The butcher talks to his customers
The music plays, blaring over the TV,
Trains rattle past and the hours drag.
Down past the frosted glass door
At the end of the corridor
She is there.
The garden is her realm,
The trees, her friends,
The clouds - her books,
Her eyes staring out at...
She is there
they told me so.

28 December 1980