This poem is dedicated to my grandmother who suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.

How it all started, no-one really knows.

The fire just spread from one room to another,

charring the pearls and burning the clothes.

Perfume bottles smashed as smoke arose

but the flames you could not smother.

 

Family photos of figures and faces now incinerated

lay in the soot of what your home had become.

Why did this happen to you? You were not hated.

A crime or perhaps a cruel disaster has now dictated

a future to which you must succumb.

 

A world in which you have no place to call home,

or a person in whom to confide.

Around empty corridors you now roam

seeking a reminder of the house you used to own.

A memory of the life you used to pride.

 

It must be scary to have lost that safe place.

Where you could go and remember

the thing that put a smile on your face,

or the call about the advertising space.

But here you are, surviving in the darkness, an ember.

Categories: Opinion

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