I remember every brick in the door frame,
Nellie, an aproned sixty-nine had
never watched a movie,
still thought meat was
the main part of a meal.
She picked bunches of yellow roses
for homeward bound church-going
bachelors; pitying their lonesome ways.
Her spinster world was gay
with giving; usually to old ladies
stiffened by religion and age.
Her greasy hair
her shy smile -
hands filled with care,
in the hedge,
throwing kindness to hens;
setting jam to seal -
Published in https://tintean.org.au/2017/02/06/poetry-13/