You don’t know me, yet
here I am at your door.
It’s a good door, solid,
old, plain. I don’t go
with painted doors.
And you’ve opened it wide,
unafraid. Perhaps because
I’m an old woman. What’s
to fear? I’ll just step in.
You’re fond of angels, I see.
Even a coffee-table book
of them, and two on the mantle.
I’m sure they’re fond of you,
too, dear.
Yes, coffee would be nice,
but tea would be better.
Shall we sit here in the room
made for sitting? Yes, I’ll wait.
Two sugars for me.
This chair will suit nicely.
Easy to get in and out of.
Lovely rug, warms the room.
All the best colors, red, blue,
gold, and what a grand
mirror. Oh, dear, the wind
has mussed my hair. That’s
alright. Now, what were we
saying? What’s that? Why
have I come? Oh, give me
a minute. It’ll come to me.
It always does.
Yes, lovely weather
we’re having, and lovely
tea, and cookies, too!
How kind. Such a nice
visit, I’ll come again, now
we’re friends. Next time
I’ll help with the washing up.
—
sharon brogan
november 02015
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