She bears the scars of the ravages of age and addled brain
The phone will ring – a voice I do not recognise
Hello, is that Carolynn, or Carolynn’s mother?
Then realise I’ve heard this voice before
Her name is Julie; the widow of an eminent writer, so she says
Mis-dialled again; I’m too busy to talk I have a busy life to lead
She is becoming an irritant, but then…
I listen to her story – a life of sheer happiness in the past, and now, misery and isolation
She mumbles a thank you dear for contacting Derek for me
I thought he wrote 40 books, but you say 30
Are you going to America to work, or did you say Australia?
I’m not very well again she whispers in my ear. How are you dear is that Carolynn or
Carolynn’s mother?
It’s the second time my doctor has thrown me down the stairs
My house is in chaos – when are you coming over to sort it out?
I can’t find Derek’s old manuscripts and he wrote 40 books you know
I reply in a tender voice; don’t worry I’m sure Derek wrote 40 books, just as you say
I place the receiver on its cradle and wipe a tear from my eye…I have never met Julie…


4 comments on “DEMENTIA

  1. beeseeker says:

    Speechless, this is a truly powerful piece, the ending so unexpected, yet appropriate – you have my respect. More please.

  2. Bart Wolffe says:

    This poem speaks for me, to me … Dementia is something I personallly fear as I find my own mind slipping gears and not gripping as it once could. Very well written.

    • caroray78 says:

      Thank you Bart. Fear not, I’m sure your gears will be well oiled for a long time! Shame about tomorrow. Why don’t you build a snowman (..) x

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