Not Invisible 

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES
In my young-adult days I was frivolous and needy
As a young mother I tried too hard to please.                  Now I’m adventurous,                                                 Successful and cheeky

And I have been for a while.

My motorcycle helmet has taught me                                That I don’t always have to smile.
She replaces the helmet on her steel-grey hair                 And sits confidently back in her chair.                        Beneath the visor you can tell her                                     Mind is on her next adventure.

Friday afternoons in my art college days                                I chose fabric from the market,                                             The next woman says.

I made a complete Saturday night outfit                          Right down to my hat and bag,                                     Without a pattern, Just my imagination.                                 I designed myself the way I wanted to be.

Like me, says another. I still have some of my curtain-fabric skirts, I loved the big, bold prints.

I travelled to different cities to see my favourite bands        I danced all night                                                                     And slept at railway stations                                         Because there were no trains home.

My younger self was restless and spontaneous.               Now that I’m older I don’t feel much different               Apart from the Arthritis!

I piloted an aircraft, solo when I was seventeen, the fourth woman tells.                                                                Now I’m seen as the village wise-woman,           Resourceful, reliable, helpful and calm.                              She smiles                                                                                   But that achievement was what made me feel I could do anything.                                                                                    She sits down.

I was a punk, says one.
I trekked up the Lost World Mountain, says another.      The rest of the women join in –

I took the magic bus to India,

I lived in a commune by the sea,

I abseiled down the Humber Bridge,

I was the one who climbed the highest tree.

Then they spent years known as Mother, known as Wife, As the woman at the supermarket till, As the one who organised the bills.

They were the accountant, the doctor, the solicitor, the receptionist. The bra-fitter at Marks & Spencer’s, The teacher, The nurse at the hospital, The door-factory manager.

They were the one who made sure your belly was full And you went to bed on time. You thought they’d be lonely when you all left home                                              And their retirement party at work was done

But now they’ve stepped out of their roles                  They’re on a roll.

They’ve started all over again                                               And it’s just like when they were young.

It doesn’t matter that their backpack’s now on wheels   And they have to remember to take their pills                 And they wear comfy trainers instead of heels               And they don’t drink as much as they did                  Because it goes straight to their head.

When their busy day is done                                                The best treat they can think of is to go to bed

With a book.

Yeah,

I said a book.

Tracey Scott-Townsend 2017