Читать книгу Notes From the Dementia Ward - Finuala Dowling - Страница 8

Lastness

All this brouhaha about birthdays and first days

while anniversaries of lastness pass us by.

Hallmark has nothing to say about

the last time you laced your daughter’s shoe,

the last time a stranger looked twice at your face,

the last time you swam naked,

the last time you ran so fast your chest burned,

the last time you made love and meant it.

Even if by carrot juice and determined zest

you have missed these listed lastnesses –

making meaningful naked underwater love

after lacing your surprised daughter’s shoes –

you’ll never avoid them all. In particular,

there will be a last day when you steer

your mad mother down her own front steps,

drive her silently from her own house

for the last time, carefully not saying:

‘Look back, Ma, look up – that was your home.

You are seeing and leaving it for the last time.’

Carefully not saying:

‘Because you no longer lace shoes.’