My father doesn’t remember my name anymore.
When I ask him who I am
He cocks his head to one side
Looks at me quizzically, says: ‘Michael?’
I say: ‘Michael is your other son
I am Christopher’.
‘Christopher, that’s right!’ he exclaims,
As if an apple just fell from a tree and
onto his head
‘Eureka!’ he shouts
(Although he doesn’t know why).
Then I take a picture from the mantelpiece
And give it him.
He holds it shakily in his hands
And rotates the frame around so he is
looking at the backing card.
I turn it over again.
It’s a photograph of the family at a
bluegrass festival last year.
‘The bluegrass festival’, I tell him
He clicks his tongue and grins.
Mum comes in
- she’s carrying a tray of biscuits -
I ask Dad if he remembers
He glances at me
Raises an eyebrow
And says, ‘ding a ling’.
No comments:
Post a Comment