Alzheimer's Disease

‘They’re hanging me this evening,’ Mary says,
Or else it’s a transplant she must have,
But her concern’s observing the Fast Days
(The cares of childhood follow to the grave);
‘Am I going to mass on Sundays?’ she repeats
(How the good are frightened of their church);
All we can do is comfort with deceit;
She’s satisfied, and then begins to search
For biscuits, the indulgence of her life—
She’d eat them by the packet were she let,
A humble and obedient country wife;
Everything we tell her she’ll forget,
But not the past—the past is as today
Where she was damned unless she would obey.

Gabriel Fitzmaurice

face in the crowd, Suman Roychoudhury