The chronicle of a slow disappearance ( A new series)
Steve Szewczok © 2020 All Rights Reserved
The eyes fell back to a state of blurred lines
Purple monsters riding along the walls of a tired mind.
She moved without clear sight
determined to make her destination on time
Now she knows all my secrets
Still the talking is easy. Though the breathing is laboured
She anticipates the end with confident hands
Pushing her Cadillac down the unknown hallway
Looking for a stairwell that will never appear
A glimpse into the past
the meeting of two minds;
One aged in a good oak
the other matured like an exceptional wine.
A form of Parkinson’s,
A kind of fatigue she could not understand
The issues are in the tissues
More blood letting
Her body breaks down to
a story that is not yet diagnosed.
The confessions of the confused
Snap shots of memory
Hide the hurt
Ghosts of our past remembrance.
reflections that last through the seeing glass.
Tell me about the house? How’s my mother?
I want you to come here a minute.
Sit down and tell me what’s going on?!
You don’t believe it, when you see it!
You can’t know what you don’t acknowledge.
Tell me what is happening? Explain it to me!
Help me! And so I did…