It is the winter of my falls
the road is harder to walk on, easier to fall on
broken and fractured bones.
What has become of me?
After a fall I press the necklace alarm
to alert the young staff
who rush in to pick me up.
I can not raise myself.
My friends are long gone
my parents and sisters memories
I sit alone in a retirement community suite
warehoused.
I was raised to believe
my children would live near me
I would raise my grandchildren
but they all live so many miles away.
I can not remember yesterday
today is a blur
tomorrow means nothing.
The golden age of retirement
they never said it was Fool’s gold.
Every fall brings me closer to that hole in the earth
every day I lose more of my past
every day I have less to enjoy of the future.
Soon no one will remember me
even I will not remember me.
What has become of me?
Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net
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