The number of people suffering from dementia is on the rise. Many families have to find ways of coping. Mom is a dementia poem.
Mom – A Dementia Poem
Mom thinks I'm a burglar
sitting in the high-chair
tossing milk-drenched rice crispies
on the floor,
were she sat
and cried
about her sister,
dead 50 years,
never visiting
a few moments ago.
She tries to run away
from home, like
she did
when she was
a teenager,
longing to become a
disco queen once more,
chat up a stranger,
bring him home to bed.
She's still heading for the door
except when she's looking
for the cat
all day
she asks
where's the cat
where's the cat
where's the cat
who doesn't give a damn
of course
but I must
look after this woman
who's nothing like
my Mom,
only wears her frame
while Mom strays
between
memories
only returning
once in a while
to look at me
with the eyes
I know
a second's presence
smashed by
another
where's the cat
why does your father always leave his dirty socks on the floor
leave me alone, I want to see my daughter
another
blank stare.
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