Chattering like a glowing schoolgirl,
Betty, Mum, Grandma Choo strode
through life, shadowed by that cheeky
grin, that chuckle. Once, she walked
a silver aisle towards her man,
vowed seventy years more at his side,
a bond purchased through the cross,
and Betty drew closer. At home, she hid
in the crook between bed and doorway,
whispering in tinkling tones
into the receiver, clasped tight
between her hands like gold dust.
She used it to call her children,
her friends – anyone who would lend
an ear and she poured her secrets into it
like rain through fingertips,
telling jokes and stories and laughing,
laughing. When she wore the lilac hat,
they asked, “Who’s that?
She looks so naughty!” They saw
her crinkled face, grinning,
eyes aglow and crunched, peeping
out at all the world had to offer,
at all she had to offer the world.