It will be nice if we can forget only the bad stuff and people…
A carton of eggs
abandoned in the supermarket.
Her cousin’s face, her daughter’s name,
the parking spot where she left the car.
Forgotten phone numbers.
Birthdays of family members
“What day is it today,” she asks,
for the third or fourth time.
Her programs no longer work.
Many files now inaccessible,
are written in coded jabberwocky.
I show her photos but to her they are
blank spaces, gaps in her photo album.
“I recognize your face,” she says to me,
but I can’t remember your name.”
Comment: Towards the end of her life, my grand-mother started to lose her memory. I penned this poem a long time ago, then recovered it from my poetry discards. Some years ago, a virus entered my computer system and destroyed many of my files. I had backed them up, but I never really accessed them all when I bought this…
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