ALZHEIMER POEM
To my mother, victim of
Alzheimer’s in its early-mid symptoms.
I recognize my mother face and her dear smile
They are not very different from the past
And sometimes shining stars in her blast
And my mother words are worthwhile.
But quickly the sun fades
And of her mouth comes miracles with decades
With ghosts walking at midnight
With dead people living in the present daylight.
In my mother mind an
obsolete clock slowly beats
Alzheimer pulls her away to other streets
Her brain pulls strings with a dead scent
As if intending to escape from an ugly present.
But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, I say.
Isn’t life a play?
Isn’t life continuous non-senses?
And what’s the value of logics in a world of fences?
My mother mind doesn’t want to play no more wars.
It isn’t captive of time and floors.
Alzheimer is freeing her to a world without scores.
Yes. It doesn’t matter, I repeat.
What’s life but stories.
What’s life but memories
And poems and images of a world of defeat?
So, let the mingled wires of my mother head create romances
Like a businessman creates finances.
Let Alzheimer trace her poems and dances.
Yes. It doesn’t matter, I repeat and repeat again
And nevertheless how it hurts and makes me cry
Her days without ducks making happy lines in the sky
Her poems without blue water in the lakes
Her histories full of dead people and mistakes
Her mind-clock full of dead hours and curled snakes.
E. Reisinho
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