Nana Lethe by Sophie Hutchison

It starts small things you say,

That I don’t notice you’re repeating yourself again,

Until I do and I cry.

You get confused by photographs,

The faces are no longer familiar

-who’s that? Who’s she?

I don’t know what year you think it is.

You think the kids are asleep upstairs

-your middle-aged son’s sitting across from you.

Nurses look after you now,

Grandad doesn’t want to leave you though:

You’re still beautiful to him.

They can’t cure you,

The mind has mountains

And yours are eroding away.

Look into blue eyes the same as mine,

And wonder if you recognise me,

But the poppies wilted years ago.