Before or After

Dementia’s realness with no lifeline,
The burning desires spills its ashes
On reality thru the twilight years.
Memories struggle against the power
Of the black hole of nothing,
That claw at your struggle
To hold memories in a box.
A box of time zones black and white, Now spilt out in fragments
In disarray
All around your feet,
Tapping to the memento of the rocking chair.
I of your blood, who love you so,
Cannot let you go to the shuffle rooms of an
Old peoples home.
Your glazed eyes see thru me,
Am I not real, a ghost
A shell of myself? I feel you know.
Breakfast time approaches
“Mum your tablets”
You exude repetition
“Before or after? ”
“After mum, after.