PWD Anonymous Feb 2015

 Anonymous Words

THE DEMENTIA
Draw the sash-
lock the door
they tell me-
I don’t live here anymore…
Who changed the curtains?
painted over my pale yellow wall’s?
let the ivy grow a tangle around the flowers-
encroaching up through the pathways?
all the endless hours I toiled in this garden,
all my work…
planting, planning…
contemplating,
the placement of every seed
the culmination;
a firing plethora of color
bursting through gray
branching and spiraling
a cicatrix-
bridging to the cross over –
that WAS the threshold of MY wisdom
where the unlocking of memory took place
wandering through a foggy maze
surrounded by gaps
searching for the key
pounding and pounding on the door
maneuvering around a hideous plaque
I think I understand…
I step over a hole
shift to the right
I’m locked in…
going around the hole
I veer to the left
I’m locked out.

 .

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