No Recognition but Memory

I remember the last time I saw her, it was my face
     She didn’t remember.
She told me stories of my childhood, my job, my travel
     As if I were a stranger.
I sat caught between forgotten and remembered.
     Not knowing what to say.
Because that conversation that made her happy
     Made me feel like a spy.
What if a certain question could make her reveal something
     She would never say to my face?
Recognizing the subtle shift of responsibility
     From the time
She used to scold me for picking tomatoes
     Before they were ripe.
Leaving behind the times my many mistakes made her worry,
     I joined her misted travels.
Choosing my questions carefully, I played the happy stranger
     Taking time to listen.
Hearing stories of her grand-daughter, showed she remembered
     Me. If not my face.

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9 Responses to No Recognition but Memory

  1. Alyssa says:

    So beautiful, Lori!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh my! This is beautiful, and very sad. I’m guessing it’s to do with Alzheimer’s? Or maybe just old age…
    https://cupandchaucer.wordpress.com/2015/02/20/writing201-fog-elegy-metaphor/

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Andy Townend says:

    A very sad and moving picture, your words are now part of her, her memory.

    Like

  4. Laura says:

    Oh yes, this is beautiful. Just beautiful.

    Like

  5. The eLFonian says:

    An encounter very well told. The only thing that we can do for those afflicted is to be there and listen. A lovely reflective poem.

    Like

  6. Noirfifre says:

    When someone close forgets but you remember, it suddenly become more important and concerning; Memories to hold on to.

    Like

  7. Pingback: Best of Writing 201: Poetry (according to no one important) | I'd rather sit on the couch

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