Rum-balls and marzipan <br />announced her appearance <br />every Christmas <br />in those far-away tinselly days <br />when I was small. <br /> <br />Her name was Madge. <br />(the term spinster never suited a soul so well) <br />Stooped and bony, <br />she had long hair coiled up on top <br />and ankles that could have turned men's heads. <br />She grew lily of the valley <br />in her garden <br />‘on the west side with just a hint of the sun’. <br /> <br />She adored me. <br />Minded me often. <br />Reminded me <br />of the need for family. <br />(even though we weren’t really hers) <br /> <br />She lived alone in the big house. <br />Nursed both parents <br />into their graves, apparently. <br />Mum said ‘he’ had been a tyrant. <br />‘Drove away the only gentleman friend she ever had’. <br /> <br />Later she gave me recipes <br />penned in her perfect copperplate <br />‘It’s the J nib that makes the difference’. <br /> <br />I recall the story she told each year <br />about the only time I saw her with her hair down. <br />‘Madge… (she liked me to call her that) <br />You look just like a girl - <br />from the back.’ <br /> <br />She died of cancer in the end. <br />Left all her money to her proper family - <br />the ones who never bothered with her.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-name-was-madge/
