Telling Tales (true or tall)

MEMORIES I reach over in my sleep To cuddle your warm, tousled body. But the sheets are cold. You no longer seek my comfort in the night.   I hear you chuckling down the hall, Are you playing and hiding in the kitchen? But the cupboard’s bare. There’s no laughter in you anymore.   I think I see you waving to me from afar And run towards you to find out why. Then you turn away. My advice no longer needed; you know all.   My mind knows this too will pass But my heart yearns for the happy toddler Who saw me, her mother, As the love and the light of her life.   Sandy Gillis ©   Submitted to Hinterland Times July 2019  -  Published Mar 2020

There's a stash of memories running wild in my brain! A maelstrom of phrases and words trying to escape. They're headbutting my skull, riding roughshod again, Jostling madly for position, lining up on my tongue And I'm frantically searching my dry mouth in vain, For those pithy recollections before they disappear.     Could I have reached the end of this corporeal life; Is senility attacking my mind, deleting all as it goes? My cutting wit, once much admired, sharp as a knife, Reduced to raving and mumbling, not making sense. In my mind I’m still young, not ready for the afterlife. I try to put fading memories into some sort of order.   Then suddenly, a light shines on one lone memory, Grandad saying, “It’s the forgetting that’s difficult.” And just like that, I recall every single tale and story, Which, a frantic minute ago, I thought had vanished. My audience is small, attendance wasn’t obligatory, And I feel the anxiety disappear, ...

I present you with my problems with various birds turning up on my doorstep, seemingly each weekend...   The baby magpie whose parents flew in with him one Saturday morning and then out again, sans baby, leaving him behind to demand food while sitting on my arm.   They came back twice to check on him before carting him away hours later while I frantically tried to keep cats away from, and the food up to, it. The bush turkey chicken rescued from the cat before he could be eaten.   Gorgeous little chicks that can’t be kept in captivity and their parents abandon them before they’re born. What a horrid life they must have. The peewee that insisted on sitting on the fence while the cats stalked him only to speed off at the last possible second and spoil their fun.   I didn’t realise birds could smile until then. The corella which fell off the roof (closely followed by the cat...

Farewell Mum We celebrate now in love, Mum's life from start to end And we're glad we knew her, as Mum and as a Friend. We remember all the love and lessons she taught us And thank her for the care and generosity shown us. Although Mum's now left this earth and taken flight, We know she's that voice in our heads, our guiding light. Remembering her will be easy, we do that anyway; Because there's an ache in our hearts that won't go away. But we're pretty sure that up there in Heaven She'll be painting and teaching pottery once again... S, P & R (26.9.17)

Photo courtesy Nest In The Attic My eyes are wet with tears as I stand over her frail body. Her face is peaceful and free of the pain that has been so noticeable of late.  I feel my throat constricting with the effort of keeping my emotions in check.  Is this tiny, thin creature the same woman I remember from childhood as a tower of strength? Mum had phoned me earlier this morning and asked me to stop in on my way to the city to check on her mother, my "Grammy".  I had grudgingly agreed because she was insistent although it would mean I’d be late for my hair appointment.  It was terribly difficult to get a suitable spot at  Ramon’s. “Honestly Mum, you worry too much,” I had said.  “She’s as tough as old leather and will probably outlast me!” I look through the door to the kitchen where long ago Grandma had taught me to cook the dishes my own family now loved.  So strong are the many happy memories of that room, I feel I can almost touch th...

My favourite, summer holiday-spot in Queensland has been Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast, for as long as I can remember.  More particularly, Golden Beach, where my grandparents owned a beach shack.           Every Christmas we would pack up, along with various aunts, uncles and cousins, not forgetting of course grandad and grandma, meet up with more aunts, uncles and cousins and proceed to have a whale of a time.  At least, we kids had a whale of a time.  Apparently, that’s not quite how the adults remember it. Sometimes we’d go at Easter time but Christmas and those hot summers, complete with Christmas beetles and the buzz of cicadas, are the memories I recall most fondly.           It seems it was only we children who thoroughly enjoyed sleeping on the floor or camping downstairs; trooping off for another glorious day at the beach; counting the hours till Santa (or the Easter Bunny) deliv...