Alzheimers: Greta
Not seven steps from the familiar geography of her room
her bewilderment sagged on her walking frame as she shied away from the stern arm that was guiding her. She cried, 'Where are you taking me?' in the fretting voice of a sleepy child; and I stooped to look for her roseate smile and saw instead, in the unerring vacancy of her face, the scattered particulars of her life. We composed ourselves upon the couch long enough for her to plead 'But I don't know who you are.' as she trembled beneath the insult of my peering eyes and frowned away; and I felt a stranger's smile curdling on my face. In this last patience she was worn by remembering, mastered by great age; exhausted, as she strained towards recollections of love; and we sat on the couch, each perched in our own fierce absence with the gas fire hissing, the electric clock ticking electric time, until, in a small voice from a far off place she said 'You look just like your father.' — Grant Fraser
The song Jack and I, we each sat like housesapart, our silence sturdy and neat. Who are you Jack under that grey hoodie,shading you from the harsh glare of others, hiding an attic of sins unsung from your rooftop— a slow blues number perhaps. Oh Jack, the first time I heard you sing,your smoky 7th note wept for days, a crystalline drop that stilled thewhite noise of your voices. — Ignatius Kim
Farewell to my mother
Because it holds you, may I dance lightly on the earthAnd when I walk may reverence guide my stepSoft beneath the rain, hardened by the sunOur human stage, our testing ground, This earth, this resting place, this sacred space. — Margaret Quigley
Grant Fraser is a lawyer, poet and filmmaker.
Ignatius Kim
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Margaret Quigley lives in retirement on the South Coast of NSW. Her poem was inspired by the recent loss of her 99 year old mother.