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Poem: Dementia

By Saturday, Mar 28, 2015 Arts & Entertainment

the slideshow has slowed to a standstill

one blurry frame remains

its content always disheveled

it is noted, the movement of drops

from melting snow outside

beyond there’s a lot of fixed shapes

it is four o’clock, the consensus claims

she wears a terri cloth robe stained

by breakfast in another dimension

clothes on her bed from out of the blue

are perplexing, where did they come from

for the fourth time, she asks me my name

what, I wonder, generates the beating of her heart

the holding of her skeletal frame

the lids of swollen eyes opened

in remote she drags

Kleenex across her brow

for the fifth time

she asks me where I live

the answer is distantly familiar

yes – she remembers that she lived there too

then hunkers down to deliver

the exact address

forgets what she is trying to remember

tells me that nothing is moving

except droplets of water

leaking between synapses

in a world that has been silenced

 

Deborah Golden Alecson

February 12, 2015