Her last summer

HER LAST SUMMER: PORSCHAPOOPOO

We sit together
Beneath the dappled shade
Of the old honeysuckle tree.
An intricate structure of tangled legs,
Planted when we first moved in.
Porscha nestled into her nest of blankets
Until, later in the day, she moves
To the deeper shade of the fig trees
Not far away.
We enjoy the hush of early morn
Until the sigh of neighbours rise
And so I start my day.
We watch together
As they descend to feast upon
A special mix of Mother and Fledgling seed.
The throng
Of chat and flap of wings
As babies play and preen
Entertains.
Crystal drops hang on ribbons overhead,
Casting rainbows all around
As I arrange garden flowers.
A table adorned in lace.
Old decanters, cut glass vases
And vintage teapots
Nestle for centre stage.
Remnants of an old life,
Of Sunday teas
When life was sweet
And summers long.
Her charts still mark the blackboard.
A timetable of tablets and weight loss
As I battled to keep her.
Night time cries established
A pattern of broken sleep,
Warming her food
But the gravy only she would eat.
She filled this house with her tiny frame
Until it was time.
And now I sit
In the emptiness
Longing for her return.