This place is nice enough, but it’s not my home.  I think I’m on arrest.  My wife surely hung some photos on these walls; she surely did, but where are they? Where is she? Room 222.  Where is she? I smell dinner cooking, so I look for Mabel in the kitchen.  A nice enough woman serves me meat and potatoes, saying, “There’s going to be a full moon tonight, George.”

“You don’t say?” I gum lumps of potatoes in my mouth. 

Perhaps this is the same woman who helps me up from the table and to my room.  There is something familiar about her.  I love this woman and my eyes tear involuntarily.  Good women are hard to find.  She lays me down to rest and says, “Bath time is in the morning.”

“You don’t say.” I rest my bones on a twin mattress as the sun pulls the earth to itself  like a blanket.

“Goodnight, George.” The door shuts, and Mabel’s voice vanishes. 

I turn my head to the window where hummingbirds gather.  With eyes wide open, I’m caught between worlds.  Sweet nectar, sweet woman, sweet night.   Lilacs are in bloom. I am restless in the light of the moon, or is it the sun? I must undress for bath time, I think.  Yes, I will undress.  A bath will put me at ease.

caught between the sun

and moon, Christmas and July,

 I flounder for her

haibun moon 

~photo prompt courtesy of Penny.  I’ll be out all week, or 6 moons and 6 suns, so will miss reading all the other entries until Saturday.  Please accept my apologies for not responding to comments until then…but please…still leave your comments!


26 thoughts on “Sundowner’s

  1. This is a beautiful piece Angie. The pathos of the situation I know so well. I spent a lot of years caring for my aged father. I thought you nailed it excellently.

  2. A beautiful touching narrative. Also want to express admiration for these words, ;I rest my bones on a twin mattress as the sun pulls the earth to itself like a blanket..’

  3. I can feel his confusion, and pain. But I am also hopeful that he feels the kindness of Mabel. And it makes me wonder wistfully if that kindness can ease his pain and help make his days better, even if only a little bit. My aunt has alzheimer’s and aphasia, so she can’t communicate very well, but the nurses say she smiles for such a long time after her son leaves. And her sunny disposition makes her everyone’s favorite. My mother, on the other hand, is in control of all of her thoughts, and they make her sad and crotchety, and she’s nobody’s favorite! So those people that break through her lonlines, and ignore all her complains, are noticed and appreciated. I like to think that kindness can make a difference. I see hope in this poem. Thank you for that.

    1. Hope, however fleeting, keeps us alive. Thanks for sharing your aunt and mother’s story. Sometimes, it’s the paranoia that assaults Alzheimer’s patients, that changes their disposition, and it’s no longer the same person we know, but the disease “talking.”

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