Will they come,
the refrigerator days?
Are they on the way,
when wild wind will whistle
through the eaves of my memory,
stripping the last vestiges
of what was once real?
O, my mother said, I don't
want to get like Papa
who, towards the end,
got out the telephone
book and said I know
that verse is here
in this chapter in Matthew.
But she did.
What was hardest to watch
was the weeping. At least
there were no rages.
A mind is a terrible
thing to waste.
A mind is a terrible
thing to lose.
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