I’m writing a memoir, but who is it for?
Does anyone care that I lived through a war?
Will my granddaughters smile at my teenage romances,
Or laugh at the dresses I wore to the dances?
I’ve lived, laughed and loved in my eighty odd years
The good times, the bad times, the smiles and the tears
All come flooding back as I lift up my pen
The friends of my childhood, I see them again.
I nurtured three children, a dog and a cat
I sang on the stage, but who cares about that?
I’ve met interesting people in faraway places
Vienna, Shanghai, I remember their faces.
The ship to Australia to start a new life
A nurse, a companion, a mother, a wife.
My parents, my brother, lost loved ones I see
As I relive the memories – I’m writing for me.
Irene Mooney is a local artist and poet who lives in Daylesford.