Making the trip for the first time
Walking briskly was fine,
But on coming face to face with the house
Gruesome thoughts occur to her.

The silence is deafening
Not even the chirps of cricket,
With an unspoken chasm of distrust
She almost retreats.

Feeling bitter self –reproach at this idea
Half walking, half running
She thrives on to the unfinished business
Trying not to feel defeated so soon.

Eyes round with disbelief
Back hunched like a crooked board
Throat dry with suppressed shouts
Grandma rushes out to meet her.

And here comes spasms of great sobs
Mixed with bemused laughter,
Still in an embrace
The thoughts fleetingly flood back.

Who would have predicted such
Away with the hurt and bewilderment,
Comes the welcome of the prodigal
Not quite as upsetting as she had imagined.

For the old are no longer sharper-minded
The clouds of loneliness
And want of warmth
Make them to want to forget the pain.

The toothless grin and wrinkled smile
Speak volumes of great welcome
Alongside the burgeoning affection
The heart of a woman.

She thinks to herself
Why she hadn’t done this earlier
For it seems everything has fallen into place
Despite the former mood of black despair.

Oh no! Grandma is slumping
Her hands holding her chest
Panic is suddenly in the air
She is having a heart attack . . . .