The Memory Collector

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By EB

Fri, 07 Aug 2015
  • 9550 reads
22 comments
 

We never believed you'd knock at our door;

your grim expression begging 

no questions - she could remember to ask - 

nor after you'd taken her small frozen hand 

in your gnarled oak grip and pinched as you pulled

her towards you, did you notice her wince, the once.



You coldly prized open her mouth and sucked out

her final remarks; gladly swallowed the sense of them,

and when you expelled your sour breath 

back into her lungs, with cunning, you liquidized

brain into mush, and for the fun of it, confused the connections

until there was no recollection of brilliance 



once shone through those lack-luster windows

of hers. All awash, we witnessed the start of the leaving 

that day - kind of accepted the knock - 

but funnily enough,

ignoring the signs of your quiet approach,

we never expected you.

Certificate 12
Poem
Unclassified

Comments

Submitted by london_calling79 on

This is a stunning piece. The description is so weighty. Excellent!

 

Submitted by EB on

Thanks London. Appreciated.

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

I can't say I like the picture of the disease being personified, and the effects brought in and sucked out (I take it this is about dementia), but the picture is very telling. The last two lines I found especially helpful, as looking back there are probably always those little early signs, that were not understood for what they were at the time.
Each person, each showing of the effects of the loss, is different I think, but one thing we found was that there were still sparks of unexpected understanding, and joy, odd intelligent phrases come from memory, usually not really relevant in the conversation, and some enjoyment of things that still made a connection - pictures, teasing sometimes, music, singing of songs known in the past, or new if of similar tune or word types, occasional eye-contact amused or pleased expression.

Rhiannon

 

Submitted by EB on

Hi Rhiannon. Thanks for your insight.

Submitted by tibi popovici on

the details are amazing, like alive memories. Like it!

Submitted by EB on

Many thanks tibi.

Submitted by Bee on

The sadness, and anger towards the collector makes sense to me. It's cruel.

Bee

Submitted by EB on

Sure is. Many thanks Bee.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hi there, EB, this reminded me of a 1960's film called, 'The Collector' starring Terence Stamp...all about a lonely man who collected butterflies. Sounds idyllic, but it wasn't; indeed being a gripping pyschological thriller.  Things are seldom as they seem, as demonstrated by this excellent poem which illustrates so well, the surreptitious, silent, steady, and relentless progression of dementia, in all its many guises. 

Well done on the more than deserved cherries.

Tina

 

Submitted by EB on

I haven't seen the film Tina but it sounds relevant. Thank you for your generous comments. Much appreciated. 

Submitted by insertponceyfre... on

this is a jewel of a poem and a brilliant pick of the week!

 

Submitted by EB on

That was a great surprise - pick of the week! Thanks insert. It's made my day.

Submitted by scratch on

It sure is, on both counts.

 

Submitted by EB on

Cheers scratch!

Submitted by Pat G on

Memory collector's been to my mom's house. And you've got it dead right. Good one.

Submitted by EB on

Thanks Pat. Looks like he's keeping himself busy.

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

Congratulations on this powerful poem being picked as Pick of the Week, Elliott. It is an excellent choice.

Best, Luigi.

 

Submitted by EB on

Many thanks Luigi.

Submitted by love_writing on

This line got me; 'All awash, we witnessed the start of the leaving'. You've conveyed so thoughtully and creatively the tragedy in memory loss. Well deserved pick of the week.

love_writing

Submitted by EB on

Many thanks for your comments Love Writing. Very much appreciated.

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

The more I read it, the more I loved it, EB. Stunning oiece of work. 

Rich

 

Submitted by EB on

Hi Rich. That's really nice of you to say. Thanks.