My mum wore jandals

I guess she wore other shoes too,
but mostly I remember her in jandals,
I can hear the sound of them slapping the cobblestones outside my bedroom window,
at a habitual pace,
soothing,
And I can see her spryly moving about in the backyard in those jandals,
under the washing line,
pushing the lawn mower,
Or I can see one jandal crossed over the other,
as she sits pensively on the patio,
puffing away on a cigarette, her little pinky curled daintily
like she is taking high tea
One jandal will drum the air delicately,
as we talk,
I can see her walk away from me, with my little brother in tow
the jandals setting a pace fit for a four year old
as they stroll off down the street hand in hand
I can see the jandals propped up on the footrest of the wheelchair
sendentary, of ornamental value now
and then they sit forlorn, forsaken at the doorstep
for a time,
I wear them, but
I'm not sure what became of them.