She was crazy or spend a little
more money and buy the word, demented.
Does it matter what word is used when one’s brain
looks like a walnut dried in the sun?
That poor woman in the mirror, the doctor
said it was Alzheimer’s.
Nellie, your husband is here.
No he isn’t. It is his brother.
Oron is on the roof across the street.
Where am I? Who am I?
Goodness, who put crackers in my socks?
It is chilly outside. I need my coat.
I must check the street.
It is always so busy in front of the house.
Just a peek before I step out.
Damn! It is only the hall!
Someone told me about God once.
Did he forget my address?
Does asking questions
really bring answers?
For every point
there is a counterpoint.
Do I accept an answer
simply to allow sleep
would have me shredding
my pillow from tossing and turning?
My gut feeling is not the same
as someone else’s……
Yet I am told to trust mine.
Perhaps answers are never answers
until I believe I have no more questions.
©Susie Clevenger 2013
Kerry at Real Toads challenged us with existentialism. That seems way over my head. I find myself in that predicament often. The first part of the poem refers to my mother who had Alzheimer's.