She lost all her memory
in drops of
misplaced keys
forgotten bills
a disconnected phone.
Her makeup grew heavy.
Pristine eyeliner,
now charcoal cakes
stacked on summer tan base,
claret jacket, mauve sweater out of season.
“You’ll need to wrap your neck now that it’s starting to turn cold, dear.”
As we inch into April.
Drops begin to trickle,
relentless beats on the shower curtain
of cortex.
Grandchildren’s names rearrage,
heels transition to sensible pumps,
that stumble.
Wrists bruise,
knees buckle,
her gait creeks.
The trickle seeps to stream.
Days erase
Seasons meld
Years merge in
A grey wash
of sleepy rain.
She Lost All Her Memory
Thank you Margaret! I cherish poetry so much and I love what you wrote. It pulls me in and I want so much to know the rest of the story…
Heart-wrenching, Margaret. Thank you for this portrayal of slow loss.
Thanks for reading! It is hard to watch, but I’m grateful she isn’t driving anymore.
Dear Kate! Thanks so much. The story is still being written, but I’m dreading the ending. Can’t wait to see you next week.
Thank you for this very precious portrait.
Love to you and Senja. Thanks for reading.
Thank you, Margaret! This is lovely–and sad. What a difficult thing to watch!
Really lovely. We are in the midst of my father-in-law’s dementia, which looks different from this but feels similarly fragmented and unsettling.