“Why are those policemen here”?
Her question weighed heavily on
my chest.
Waiters had morphed into cops
And there was no changing her
mind.
If giving up control of her
checkbook
Signaled the acceptance of diminished capacity,
I was now seeing the river of
thought
Beginning to flatten and ebb.
Four years have passed, and the
remaining stream
Has lost the energy to push
further.
She has outlived her generation,
Leaving few who can recall her
independence.
For these last few months,
Ruth has played no part
In conversations that surround
her,
Looking at faces that grow
alien.
Euclidian geometry has its
limits, mercifully.
Halving, then halving again,
comes to an end,
And the woman who had opinions,
loved her family,
Supported Women’s rights, and
changed my diapers,
Has left the room.
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