Mary's Condition

i hate you, dementia.

 

A holocaust of small memories -
Words in every room
At Mary's house mirrored pieces
reflected to her friends

 

She could hardly navigate
each thing seemed vague and strange
The oak stood in its regular place
The flowers bloomed in her garden
while her mind - always, always
turned words almost remembered

 

And how was it she could not tell
the usual from the odd
She heard them all say mother
And she called out for her own -
her mother that so often walked
the new hallways she roamed

 

Some days she read the newspaper
sipped coffee and felt calm
Some days she slipped away
to be discovered by someone
And was she still herself
And was this still her home
And why so many people here -
She thought she lived alone.

 

Reviews

[Omar Fendri]

This poem is now placed in my favourite-list for so many reasons that go beyond the beatitude of the words and the very fine expressions. The image's outstandingly beautiful... so touching, pathetic, moving and emotive. And the last stanza's beautifully written. PERFECT