(For my mother lost to Alzheimers)
The knot that holds all my days together
is coming unravelled
and all the roads I have travelled
are separating, dispersing
and fading into forgotten days;
and all the ways of remembering
are dismembering themselves
like limbs lost in an accident,
scattering across the landscape
of a forgetful mind.
I wonder if the transition into oblivion
will be painless.
Will I know how to go
“gentle into that goodnight”
and slow the pace, concede the race
allowing amnesia to be my blanket?
Or will I fight, as the poet directed,
for a reprieve, for more days
to learn new ways to build a wall
and forestall the unwanted invasion
of my wandering senses.
It will be a prison without walls or wardens
yet when I am finally lost I will still be me.
Until then, I will be my own gatekeeper
while I am still free -
and I can dream of better days.