Hit’s anidder day/It’s another day
by Christine De Luca
I da gairden o da Shaltered hooses
shö neebs aff, dovers owre at aese.
Shö’s med da möv fae her heeven,
her ain peerie nyook; is content noo
wi paeceful neebirs, a half-haertit view.
Shö’s plantit flooers,
an a male an female holly
i da hoop o berries.
Shö sterts ta wave ta passers-by
wi der bricht jackets.
A’m mindin on dat uncan wife dat,
bed-ridden an waakrife i da sanatorium,
keepit watch for a carefree moarnin lass
at ran bi her window, ta catch
da aerly shift o her simmer job;
shö’d pooed herself, laith,
fae da sweet slacky o sleep;
da aalder wife daily wavin
tae her ain young healty years,
smilin inta da face o anidder day.
In the garden of the Sheltered houses
she slips into each contented nap.
She’s made the move from idyll
of secluded cottage; is at ease now
with quiet neighbours, an almost view.
She has planted flowers,
and a male and female holly
in the hope of berries.
She starts to wave to passers-by
with their bright jackets.
I’m remembering that stranger who,
bed-ridden and sleepless in a sanatorium,
kept a lookout for a carefree morning girl
who ran past her window, not to miss
the early shift of her summer job;
having pulled herself unwillingly
from the sweet hollow of sleep;
the older woman daily waving
to her own young healthy years,
smiling into the face of another day.