house of cards

Little seems lost behind the steel blue eyes and attentive gaze.
Yet at a hundred and forty–nine pounds you’ve become fragile,
life has taken it’s toll and the toughness of a person
can’t be measured on externals.

“No longer able to follow instructions”, the therapist says.
and I don’t wonder, you’ve always been stubborn. But now
it’s the Alzheimer’s that’s to blame.
We have labored under this umbrella of appearances for so long
that it is all about pretense now. The motions need to be gone thru for family
and your firm grip and strong appetite hide the mental frailty.

When we sit down and the silence penetrates us we peel back
the appearances to find our life is made of paper maché and we live
behind a series of false façades.
For you the false fronts hide the demons of your lost mind.
For me, it is the fears of a wounded heart.
And for neither of us has this been easy, to lose the things
that most defined us.

Like gambling that a house of cards so carefully constructed
will outlast time. We all know how that ends: a miss-matched straight
and half a full house.

Because you are no longer playing with a full deck and I’ve relied
on Jokers for too long.

February 9, 2013
c.m. brooks / River Run


~ by christinambrooks on February 11, 2013.

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