by Brianna Kittrell
I wake up each morning and somehow remember less,
from my father’s favorite song to my mother’s favorite dress.
The moments of yesterday just barely linger,
I try to grasp the memories, but they evade my desperate fingers.
There are small flashbacks from happenings long ago,
but they fade and distort themselves as the days come and go.
My son came by today and brought a suitcase with him,
he took it to my closet where he filled it to the brim.
I could see the tears in his eyes as I asked him where we were going,
he wrapped me in his warm arms, and the tears just kept flowing.
My head began to hurt, and I started to scream.
Who was this stranger? I asked myself as my sanity began to rip at the seam.
The grim man ushered me to his car with the suitcase in his hand.
His cheeks were wet like mine, the sight hard to withstand.
We drove to a large building, and he tried to coax me inside.
When the people in white came towards me, I wanted to run and hide.
They asked me many questions, and images came in blurs.
One of the ladies stepped forward and took my wrinkled hand in hers.
She sat me in a chair and put a band around my wrist.
The sad man stared at me now, his wet eyes transfixed.
Someone asked me for my name, but I do not know you see;
I look down at the writing on the band. Ruth, could that be me?
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing, SNHU Student