Past Poem by Ashley Akari

Her hands lie paper-thin
And still, on the frilly
Shrunken lap.

Eyes blue, watery and bright,
Blur printed words and
Spy distant friends
Down the road of years.

She calls me ‘Anna’—
But my name is Jane.
Yet she knows the whistle
Of the milkman’s boy.

So long ago, so long ago.

She was young, once,
And sceptical
Of walking frames and
Hearing aides.

She had teenage fits
And bleeding loves
And growing pains.

In bold sweaters
And sipping cola ice,
She lived and defiant,
Did the ‘twist’,
Clicked her heels and
Got a ‘teddy boy’.

Then in a sudden
Fit of sense,
Fell in love and
Got an oven mitt.

That was mother
And so long ago….
She does not know
How long ago.

The records are gone
Now the air con blares;
Fluffy slippers caress
Small, cracked heels.

Are they restless
For a dance? —I do not know.

My mother mumbles
And I lean closer,
To sort the ramblings
Of a woman playing pretend
With the past.