mother forgot her pills this morning
those scurrying scattered bits
of polarizing drugs,
her recent source of reality
pulsating through her veins
she swears this is the first time
like I don't recognize the
dullness in her eyes
or wandering steps in the hall,
the quivering pain that echoes
we try to hide behind the lies, she and me
sitting together on the green sofa
holding hands, absorbed
in quiet thoughts, wanting to forget
what our memories conjure
old photographs pasted to linen pages
a culmination of mother-daughter affairs
making us intimate strangers,
the insipid weariness of our lives
reduced now to one room, one bed
later I will seek a modern-day miracle
promised to bestow peace of mind, that
lifts my burden of her forgetfulness,
which in reality only allows each night to pass
quiet, mother blissful between layers of dreams
but for now we share tea and lemon cakes
savoring each morsel of time we have left
wandering through mother's fog together
and watching the sun set behind trees
as summer blue fades into autumn gray
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