Читать книгу Notes From the Dementia Ward - Finuala Dowling - Страница 5

Shift aside

Those nights I lay awake, calculating our ages:

I was ten to your fifty,

would be fifteen to your fifty-five,

twenty to your sixty.

I pushed them as far as they would go:

thirty to seventy,

forty to eighty,

fifty to ninety.

The numbers toppled –

an orphan, at any age.

I stood in the dark doorway,

awaiting your invitation.

Sleepily, on your elbow,

you would ask: ‘A nightmare?’

and shift aside on the three-quarter bed.

Your back was warm;

your pillow fragrant.

These nights I lie awake calculating our ages:

I am forty-five to your eighty-five,

will be fifty to your ninety,

sixty to your century.

I stand in a lit-up doorway

– disinfectant upon human soil.

You wince slightly as you shift aside,

pat the space beside you: ‘Lie here.’

I wait only until you breathe evenly.