An Observance in the Hospital Parking Lot

The woman had both cane and walker,

but the walker wasn't hers. 

Stacked with all the plastic goodies 

that they send you home with, 

that and bags of clothes. Her husband's?

Boyfriend's? Sister's? Son's ? 

New York tags. A plaid wool poncho 

that belied the April afternoon.

I offered my assistance, but in thanking me

she said, "I think I've got it. " 

Watching from my car, I would agree.

She didn't seem to be at risk for robbery

or falling but you never know -- 

a woman...old, alone. 

The bags went in the back seat, 

then the folded walker. If she groaned 

when bending down to get her purse, 

I couldn't hear. Next the cane, 

the opening of the door and sitting down

with one leg hanging out, 

the stretch to reach the handle. 

It took both her hands

to pick that leg up from the pavement,

put it in the car. She closed the door.

Her safety now assured,

I left but now regret not following 

her car up to the front to see

just who it was she loves so much 

that now is back at home.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2022

 

Ghosts of Thanksgiving

They represent, collectively, 800 turkeys carved or more,

Norman Rockwell's famous
"Freedom from Want" painting

2000 pies, a treasure trove of casseroles, a semi load of

sweet ice tea, hot rolls with butter by the barrel. 

Sixty years, around, of holidays made special 

for their families and friends. Or not. Some have the look 

of scoundrels still. Old age does not erase past hurts,

but listening to now cracked and feeble voices try to

stay on key for Silent Night, I hope that there are people

who will visit those who gave them many memories 

in younger years, who set a table with the candles 

and good china, worked for hours on a meal because that's 

what you do. Or what you did once long ago.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2018

Husband Number Two

He must have been a boor
before he died and left her
after almost forty years.
She'd wed him in her 20s,
plenty sure he was the one
but as it happened, not the last,
nor (if my observation was correct,
collected in an chance encounter)
was he best. She mentioned Husband Two
(that's you) was polar opposite of One
and you're a clearly grand
and charming man of cheer,
still working, evidently sweet
on her, this younger wife by six,
which means when you turn 89 next year
your dear will only be
a blushing 83. Last loves can be as full,
or better, than the first, a nice reminder
from kind people like the Vermont dairy man
and his younger, much loved bride.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2015