15 Dec 2009

DEMENTIA

It's lunchtime in the nursing home.
"Not enough salt",you say.
"They never put enough salt on."
Suspended in twilight,neither dead nor alive,
frozen in a time that isn't mine.
"You're not my daughter",you say.

We sit on the promenade watching giant ships.
"My father works on the Mersey",you say.
"...skipper of a survey launch,out in all weathers.
You're not my daughter."

You slip a tiny hand in mine,
like a small child about to cross the road.
I am your mother for now.
Yet I'll always be
who you say I'm not.

5 comments:

  1. Heartbreaking. I love this.

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  2. Wow, you've brought some powerful stuff to the blogosphere tonight!! Love it all xxx

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  3. Anonymous16.12.09

    good at catching the simultaneous world we live in when "being" with the demented...i especially like the simplicity of your least verse..and the "frozen in a time that isn't mine" line

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  4. Rather lovely, ta.

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