Memory Lapse by Meriwether Falk
I laze in the hospital bed, regarding my guest
“I’m your mother,” she says, but I have no memory
I shake my bandaged head regretfully
The stranger ponders our predicament
Then she barks earnestly like a German Shepherd
When I stare at her, clueless
She shrieks like a peacock,
waving her arms over her head
in a confusing gesture that is supposed to mimic a plumage of feathers
She recites Hamlet’s soliloquies, dashing around the room in
theatrical rage and despair, holding an imaginary skull
And when that fails to jolt my memory
She hula dances
She runs to the car and comes back wearing a fez
Playing, “You Belong to Me,” on the ukulele
She sits on the edge of the bed
To no avail, she clutches an imaginary steering wheel and utters
every fathomable curse and insult at phantom drivers
She looks at me hopefully
Still. Nothing. No glimmer of recollection
She pulls a used tissue from her jacket’s front pocket
And blows her nose into the inexhaustible hankie
sounding like a fog horn
I hate it when she does that.
Why can’t she blow her nose quietly?
Oh yeah, I remember this woman
Mom
No comments:
Post a Comment