I know she didn't go fishing today.
The four white walls,
all that's left of her confinement.
I used to call it 'institutional white'
but I would never say that.
(In front of her).
She hates it enough here as it is.
I brought her the nightgown today.
"Hey there, Bob! You're not our Bob.
Where's our Bob?
Oh well hell, you can stay,
I was just cooking up some of this fish
Shirley brought me."
And yesterday she went fishing with Ruby,
who died three months ago.
Nobody's told her yet.
Her fragile heart couldn't take it.
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Slipping thorugh my fingers
Hello my old celestial friend,
When loved ones find this state we pray that it brings them happiness...text me....
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Give me your number again
I switched phones
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Amazing
It's so sad, yet beautiful. I know I've had to go through something similar with my great grandmother. Quite devestating when they don't remember you.. Oh well, wonderfully put darling. Keep up the excellent work!
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Amazing
I haven't read your stuff in a while, and this is like..a kajillion times amazing
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Wow.
My mother's mind sometimes "slips".
The beauty of it all is that she doesn't know and it doesn't matter. It is nicer for them...they can live in the past, in their fantasy...and that is all there is to it.
The ones who have the toughest time adjusting are the ones who are their families and their caregivers. They are perfectly happy to be living in their fantasies.
Thank you for this poem my Porcelain Doll Amy. Your talent continues to amaze me.
Write on, poet. Write on and on and on.
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