Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Poem: Life Under the Magnifying Glass

Each day we talk on the phone.

She asks what I did yesterday

am doing today, will do tomorrow.

Then, forgetting, asks again.

The endless repeating details are torture.

She is 90.

She does not remember, it is not her fault.

Her sisters are gone, most of her friends.

She has no one left to talk to

nothing left to talk about

but me

every conversation, over and over


I want my privacy back

I want my life back

but that is selfish, so I suck it back

and we talk about me, back to back.

Like an ant under a magnifying glass,

feeling the heat of the focused sun

that is how I feel

fair or unfair does not matter.

Her questions are love

and love always includes

the risk of being burned.

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