Stolen (CTG)

Stolen

I wheel my mother into her nursing home;
we reach her room. She asks, "Where am I?"
The bloated unofficial Shrek doll she's somehow
acquired from somebody sits on the windowsill,
glassy-eyed. I try to reassure her, put the TV on,
kiss her cold cheek, hug her but she's still confused.

Then I'm strolling in the grounds, smoking my cigar,
trying to compose myself to drive; a squirrel steals
a sickle pear, races across the grass; a cardinal flies
into the larch; swallowtails drift round the ginkgo.
Beyond the old pear tree, my mother's window:
the fake Shrek doll lolls green in the corner.

Christopher T. George

http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1132/...340c16a916.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4119/...d0cc3839_o.jpg

Sickle Pears by Childe Hassam

Thanks Chris, that must be difficult mate. Good to find a voice and express those feelings though. Daz

Sorry about your Mum Chris..

Very poignant you write your thoughts.. As you write.. Life keeps moving around you.. and your mum is drifting with the Winds..Not an easy place for her to be.. Caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea..

I had a lady I used to do her hair like that.. and I thought.. Do you still know me.. and she smiled at me.. Keep the faith Chris.. Bless you ....

Thank you, Daz and NL. I appreciate and support both in terms of the poem and the situation. It is indeed heartbreaking. My Mom is 89 and turns 90 on September 27.

Chris