I was once at the center of the circle
Now, in a dream, more spare part than man
I walk vague halls
Nothing quite as it
ought to be
An odd new building
across the street
Where the folks’ house should stand
It looks, at the edges,
like a stage backdrop
If it fell away
The house would be there
This is not right
I amble along the corridor
Turning left
And the hall seems narrower
Than it was before
Okay
This is not right
The First is absent
Apparently gone
Leaving an emptiness that
cannot be filled
Three are busy
With the crushing grind
Of pretending to be who they think they are
Doing their best
Sometimes sorrowful
Sometimes numb
tinged with nagging regret
I do my best
to tidy up the coals
My keepers dutifully kind
Lacking the truth
of empathy
So many to tend
So much to do
In this dream
I am just another dodderer
Gathering my things
Always the last to leave
This is not right
God, this is not right
Please let me wake up
And let it be back to right
They usher in my special guest
She approaches as one would approach someone who might not remember
Formal
Tentative
“Hi, Jack.”
Is that my name?
Oh, yes. That’s what she has always called me.
As I move to embrace
Welling Up
She seems surprised
Utters a polite “Oh” of acceptance
and pats me softly
We came here for just this only:
To learn to love
We are such poor students