Unexpected Poetry

“Stupid things happen to old people.”

My Mom

We took a ride to the lake, which now looks like a lake instead of the snaky wide river it resembled last year after a few years of drought.
It’s a fun drive (at least for me, the driver) as the road winds through the oaks and pastures out to the lake. We parked out there on a hill overlooking the water, and the three of us walked and talked, son, daughter, and mother.

Talking with someone who has dementia is like riding a horse that hurdles fences. Strange leaps of subject matter at regular intervals keep you on your toes. Down this avenue; UP IN THE AIR. Down that avenue; UP IN THE AIR. OOPS, a little wobble there.
It was interesting watching my brother try to follow Mom’s leaps.
Mom: “I have an image…oh, we were there…and it must have been when Jim came…”
Brother: “Jim who?”
Mom: “Who?”
Brother: “Who was Jim?”
Mom: “It was so…relieving.”
Brother: “Was it Jim ---- ?”
Mom: “Who was it?”
Who’s on second….

A field on the way to the lake
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Here’s a silly Sappho fragment, if anyone wants to try a hand at writing a poem that uses it as a title or a first line:
“gold anklebone cups”
Don’t feel inspired by that one? How about:
“you burn me”
Here’s Tupelo Press’s link to the Poetry Project—Fragments from Sappho contest. The deadline is March 31.

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Mom walked past a boulder yesterday and said, “I was curious about that, but I couldn’t put water in it.”
Later she nudged a dried-up worm on the sidewalk with her toe and announced, “It’s done done.”
When the drive was done done, the aide and I coaxed her into the shower, which enraged her. After the ordeal, when she was dressed again, she said, “Stupid things happen to old people.”
Yes, they do, Mom.
I came home and wrote more Sappho poems.

*****