Lost in the fog
of dementia,
"This isn't my real life,"
she said,
the real one
misplaced.
Caught in a storm
of stress and worry,
I think
"This isn't my real life"
just practicing
for the real deal.
Caught in confusion
she asks
"Am I alive?"
Assured her
that indeed she is
and then pondered
her query.
Panicked
she yelled
"I'm unconscious,
call 911!"
Even I knew
paramedics
can't revive
a broken brain
but
"I'm unconscious"
resonated.
********
Not my finest life today
afraid it'll break.
This is my ordinary life,
will use the best one
on special days.
A.H.
I love this. Perhaps you should come read your poems at the nursing home where I work. Maybe we could have a poetry event
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