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December 04, 2023


By Charles Cicirella


When I place my ear against my mother's skull
And listen like she's a seashell at the seashore
I can hear the wind howling through her bones

I've been entrusted this gift and I'm going to use it now
Sit still as a stiletto stabbing a topographic map
And drain the pus from my Atlas Shrugged brain stem

Maybe I'll strike it rich while panning for goblets of gold and empathy
Or maybe I'll end up at the Las Vegas Rescue Mission again
The strip laid out before me like a Beatty treatise for another stalled movie project

Let's keep this dementia between us because not all Manchurian Candidates are ill-informed and not every garden party has Mr. Hughes hiding in Dylan's shoes wearing his disguise
I've stepped on bigger toes than yours and though there's no doubt you could buy and sell me what's the bloody point when everyone ends up buried beneath mounds of paperwork and shovelfuls of dirt
I can hear the train imploring my mother to either make up her mind or stop being kind and to simply call it a day

Dementia must be taken seriously no matter how difficult it is to face
Matters of the heart are hard enough, but when it comes to the brain too many people consciously or unconsciously check out
My mother is the toughest person I've encountered in this life and even she is helpless at the hands of this silent killer

Article © Charles Cicirella. All rights reserved.
Published on 2018-04-23
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski. All rights reserved.
1 Reader Comments
Charles Cicirella
12:53:42 AM
This artwork is so perfect with this poem. Thank you Sand.
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