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"We bury love
but forgetfullness grows like the grass
That’s a thing to weep for
not the dead."

- Alexander Smith

Home

by denny

They sit in plastic chairs lined up
against the gray walls of the assembly room,
blankly gazing out into space.
Others, sitting at tables, play solitaire
against imaginary opponents,
while the attendents try to be helpful
reminding them to take their medication
waiting for their shift to end.

In one corner, a daughter
who has traveled from out of town
sits with her Mother and shares photos
of the grandkids she scarcely remembers.
“It’s good to share things from outside,
to keep them ‘connected’ to life”
an Administrator had told her.

The bland music playing in the background
is interrupted by an announcement.
A monotone voice over the speakers
“Lunch is being served in the cafeteria”
Ever so slowly, in unison, the residents
rise and shuffle down the narrow corridor
to the windowless square room
with tables where lunch is being served.

The daughter helps her mother up, gives her a hug
promises to come back soon, and not forget.
She gives her the collection of family photos
which she places in the pocket of her robe
to be retrieved later and placed in a drawer
with all the other memories of home.