She walks a marathon distance each day,

passing people she has known for years

now unrecognizable, vague, like shadows.

She no longer engages with them,

struggling to distinguish between the faded faces.

She retraces each step, regardless of the weather -

always dressed for it. Back and forth.

The same handful of routes trodden in sequence.

The same street corner where she pauses, looks back

and shakes her head, seeking a way to think through the jumble,

then convincing herself that she’s lost something on her journey.

So she backtracks then stops, she forgets why she turned back,

she forgets everything that she’s lost.


She keeps herself immaculate;

three cardigan changes each day.

Every change is a new day to her,

every act a rediscovered experience.

Minimal makeup, unassuming jewelry,

a hair pin calming the wave of her fringe.

Pristine. Tidy. Dignified. A grasp at self respect;

the thing she feels most important to hold on to

as all other things fall silently around her like confetti.

Nails not painted for 20 years, lips not pursed for ever.


She had a husband once, and a son, or did she just imagine that?

Did she imagine the three of them rolling in grass,

running on sand, consumed with love,

huddled and cuddled, safe and warm?

Or was it real, contained in her lost history?


Right at this moment she chooses to keep the memories

and she keeps them for as long as she can, savouring every moment

until they dissolve and she is left alone on that street corner.

Looking back. Forgetting. Walking on.


I see her walk for miles, upon hours, upon days.

I wonder about the stories she can no longer tell,

about the memories that only appear in snippets,

and the lifetime that is trapped within her.

old agedementialost memorieslost yearslost treasuresAlzheimer's




<Deleted User> (32907)

Tue 1st Feb 2022 00:28

Wonderful observance and understanding of another person's life and what goes on in their head. I agree with Keith, well crafted poem, with great insight. Lovely.

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Marc Hawkins

Mon 31st Jan 2022 11:48

Thank you Keith Jeffries. Unfortunately the Lady is no longer with us. Her son, however, who hadn't been seen for years, suddenly manifested...just long enough to sell her house then disappear again.

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keith jeffries

Mon 31st Jan 2022 11:40

An intriguing poem rich in its observation of another individual which provokes speculation. She seems to have developed an obsessive nature which is probably a means of sublimating the emotions of her past. A poem well crafted, readable and one to ponder over. I can see her now as she stops and glances back.
Thank you. I enjoyed this

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