A Gathering

There she goes again, Shuffling on her small grey feet, Shabby clothes adorned with stains, Head bowed against the sleet, Damp, still, from last night’s rain, Her load of crinkled carrier bags Crunching in her arms, Her face smooth-skinned Like a time-worn pebble, Head twitching in permanent alarm, Eyes locked on some distant shore, Frozen in time, eager remembrance Of bygone places And a forfeited chance. Now and then she hears The whispered lines of Some ancient joke and She sheds her cloak of fear, Throws her head back, Grey hair tumbling like a dancer’s