I sit, staring through my tears,
still, against the quiet groaning of a heart
which weeps way beyond my reach,
lost within her fears and aloneness,
only tethered to this world
by a frayed grasp of my hand.
and so I hold on.

Reasons to be tearful
1 2 3 daughters
Sitting in Bay 3 in A&E;
Praying for recovery
With oxygen and tlc.
The drip drip hangs silently
While she lays restless
In a bed that's temporary
Leaving everything unsaid
Leaving nothing unsaid
Punctuated with apology.
Cursing the immodest gown
That's flapping around
Dozing within the bustle around
Her exhaustion and frustration
Tainting all conversation
While her smile's still strong
Between episodes of expletion.
Doctors come doctors go
Nurses stay longer than they ought to
Breaking rules to console
While our mum offers up
'I'm sorry' from her heart
And we know this is just the start
Of a brand new hurt.

Something is wrong with my brain
What are we doing?
I think I'm dying
I'm dying
I'm going to die
Am I going to die?
What are we doing?
I'm scared
I don't feel well

-Chu

You.
You who taught me love and kindness and hope
and knitting and optimism and forgiveness and baking.

Yet you were also my first loss.
You taught me grief and how nothing stays the same.
Even a mind can deteriorate so much I wonder it makes me wonder if
you ever were so good.
Maybe I just exaggerate. Because you aren't  here to prove me wrong or disappoint me.
But how could anyone have been so good?

But even if I was looking at you through the rose tinted glasses of youth
I refuse to tarnish my opinion of you
I will keep these glasses forever
I insist.You taught me all this and more.

Because of you I visit grandad more  
to remind me of what
I lost
and a reminder to appreciate what I still have.
That house will always remind me of you
I hope that is ok.

I'm this person today, but tomorrow I'll be someone else
Do not become attached to me,
I'm not the same as I was yesterday  
I'm not the same person you once knew,
I'm not pure
I'm not an angel
I'm far from perfect...
If I talk to you today,
I won't talk to you tomorrow,
I don't know what's going on with me,
All I know is that I don't belong...

If I remember you today
and I forget you tomorrow
Forgive me,
I'm not feeling so well . .
I'm sick and im aware
I'm unconscious of the on-going flings
I tend to make,

If I laugh with you tonight
And show you no emotion tomorrow,
Forgive my judgement...
I live for moments in minutes ,
I die in a matter of hours,
My love is here sometimes
And then it is gone...
I am made of steel,

It's sad to say I can no longer feel....

I remember last September,
My name disappeared
from the crevices of your brain.

I remember last September,
The pain etched deeply in your eyes -
Trying to remember
But forgetting
The name you gave to your own loved child.

I remember last September,
As words fail to then utter my name.

I remember last September,
Tears rolling down your now changed face.

I remember...
Why didn't you remember me no more?

The echo still pounds down onto the ceilings; wide based feelings, detached from the vain faces of sanity, denounced by reason: Dementia! Still chanting to the pace of galloping fiddles, in the stream of the night!

A.r. Bazian

I spy something
Murky red
And in the
Bottom of my cup.
I wash it down with
Something less than
Reluctant
While leaving the
Rust,
Or assumed iron,
To chance,
This one chance
And not to be
Repeated.

Tomorrow,
Now today,
I spy something
Murky red,
Once more tomorrow,
Tomorrow’s tomorrow,
Again and again
And day after days,
Rusty red
In the bottom of my
Cup –
I grow paranoid.

I empty the
“Keep,”
And creep into every
***,
Tea-***,
Pan and/or
Cooking tool
Seeking
Threatening material,
Foreign material,
And lodged in my brain
Material.

So too,
Amid my investigations,
I’d discovered
Alzheimer’s,
Dementia,
Blindness,
A stroke or two,
And in some cases
Death
Had you ingested enough
Ore,
Or so I’ve heard.

I spy
Metal flakes
Atop
Metal constructs,
Heavy,
Soft, caustic,
And broken post
Point-of-sale,
Broken
And now in me,
Circulating through my –
Spleen,
Kidney
And brain.

I’ve developed a
Phobia
For unwanted edible metal,
A curious
Cereal
Resulting from the
Cartoon
Of my
Dying grandfather,
Once an architect,
Now ten minutes to
Tie shoes –
A brain hemorrhaged
Iron, I’m sure of it.