It takes me back

My daughter is 7
I’m taking her to visit my sick mum,
her grandma,
she sleeps in a room with me,
her brother, 9, stays at home
with his Dad.

I’m am 4
and visiting my Nana
with my mum,
we stay in Nana’s little flat in Melbourne,
I sleep in a room with my Mum,
my brothers and sister stay at home
with our Dad.

Nana’s had a couple of strokes,
she doesn’t smile much,
she is nearly blind,
a bit scary, I think,
her thick Irish lilt
settles me, a little.

Mum and Nana talk and talk …
I don’t know what about,
I spend my time investigating,
a budgie in a cage outside the kitchen window,
a cat on the wall,
cement driveway, brick flat,
fancy thick glass sliding door to the living room,
don’t go in there, Nana says,
children must do as they are told.

Fragments of sticky thoughts, lasting decades,
Nana isn’t happy,
Nana doesn’t like me,
never connecting the dots,
(nothing to do with strokes
and blind eyes)
assume things, remember things,
far from true.