Norman Silver
Ballroom
My mother is in her late nineties and has been in deep dementia for over twenty years. But still my sister visits her in the old-age home and wheels her from the ward to the Nosh Bar, two floors below. Our mother is shrunken and shrivelled, can’t speak any words, can barely see, she twitches and contorts her mouth sporadically, and doesn’t recognise anyone. My sister buys her an ice-cream and feeds it to her spoon by spoon, wiping away the dribble with a tissue. Other people seated around the room, both inmates and visitors, stare at her, their eyes perhaps questioning why my sister even bothers to give her treats.
A middle-aged man arrives, sets up a music system, and begins to play old dance music. Pennies from Heaven, You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby, Let Me Call You Sweetheart. On impulse, my sister lifts our mom from the wheelchair and begins to dance with her, holding her tightly, and supporting her in rhythm to the music. Mom begins to shuffle her feet in mid-air, her eyes shining and laughing non-stop as my sister carries her around the Nosh Bar. The seated people in the room begin to clap and cheer, tapping their feet and trying to sing along. A few rise from their chairs to join in.
on the sprung floor
Mom and Dad’s first waltz
Blue Moon Hotel
About the Author
Norman Silver was born in South Africa but has lived in the U.K. for over fifty years. His published work includes several novels and poetry books for teenagers and children. After a visit to Japan, he became fascinated by short-form poetry and began writing haiku and, more recently, haibun.