My sense of leftness
Has lost its potency
There is the time of the world around me
There is the time of my world inside me
There is the time of history behind me
There is the time (stood still) of the aged care facility
I now spend my time in
There is the time (an eternity - or so it seems) of waiting for the future
That will be
Although they are enmeshed and entwined
They don't synchronise anymore
I cannot tell which is the one
I need to believe
Which is reality
Which is the memory
Which is the dream.
Somewhere I sense that she has died
Maybe four or five years ago
Maybe last week
Maybe tomorrow
My damaged mind
Refuses to let me know
To reassure me
To convince me one way or the other
As a fact
I think she was here
Only last night
My arm was trembling
And full of pins and needles
And she was there
To comfort me
To reassure me
That if it was still a trouble tomorrow
We could always make an appointment
And drive to the doctor's
That would have to be in the car
I'm going to have to sell
Two years ago
And arthritis
Refuses to let me steer
Without the pain of fear
And she couldn't drive
That car -
We no longer owned it
And she had died
I know at times
I can be a grumpy old shit
But she brings me
Joy, happiness, peace, reassurance and clarity
Everytime
She visits me
