THE LADY VANISHES

You fade away before my eyes –

not physically, you still look the same,

but what makes you You is vanishing

and I have to stand and watch you leave.

Words go missing on their route

from brain to mouth,

and sentences falter into silence

as you search for what to say,

now times and dates

have become too slippery to hold.

The silver fish of memories

have turned their tails and swum away.

You know that something’s wrong,

but don’t know what, and bang your fist

in mute frustration. Fear fills your eyes

until you forget, then all is calm.

You’ve become a child again;

I help you with your clothes,

and you make scenes in shops –

your life has shifted into reverse gear.

The record in your head

is set on eternal repeat;

you call me five times in a row

to tell me the same story.

Our names drift off like morning mist –

“Are you new?” you say one day,

mistaking me for staff,

the sentence slicing my heart.

“No, I’m your daughter,”

another family member mislaid.

You smile politely,

and nod in a parody of recognition.

You’re dead, and I can’t bury you.