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Friday, April 15, 2011

M is for

Mother's Repeating Herself Again.

Her brain's as full of holes as a doily - just lace
 unraveling a little more daily.
The things I tell her can't find a place
 to stick, so she asks, gaily,
(unraveling a little more daily)
"What's new?" I told her two minutes before
but it's gone, so she asks, gaily,
and I tell her again.  Sometimes it's a chore.
"What's new?" I told her two minutes before.
I'll tell her again, two minutes from now,
then I'll tell her again.  Sometimes its a chore.
Can I keep my patience?  I wonder how.
I'll tell her again two minutes from now.
She will not admit that her memory's fraying.
Can I keep my patience? I wonder how
 she feels, lost in a mind that keeps straying.
She will not admit that her memory's fraying.
She simply can't face the truth it implies.
She feels lost in a mind that keeps straying
and I can read the fear behind her eyes.
She simply can't face the truth it implies.
Her mind is erroding.  Her thoughts fall apart,
and I can read the fear behind her eyes.
She's slowly dissolving.  It's breaking my heart.
Her mind is erroding.  Her thoughts fall apart.
She's afraid to go to , ". . . that nursing home place."
She's slowly dissolving.  It's breaking my heart.
Her brain's as full of holes as a doily - just lace.

4 comments:

  1. That's an interesting poetry technique. I don't think I'd have the patience to try something like that!

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  2. Remind me--what is this poetry form called? (It's perfect for the subject matter!)

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  3. Pat, it's called a pantoum. It's such fun!

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  4. Ah, a pantoum. I can never keep straight all these fancy forms you use!

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