Friday, June 8, 2012

Over Dinner


Somewhere between the cheesecake
And the devils on horseback
They revisit a topic best left alone
The evening begun with such promise —
fine wine, crisp linen, dimmer switch low
music soft and tasteful; kitchen smells scrumptious—
Rapidly deteriorates, spins with concentric determination
Down, down, down — to the dark place
All too familiar to them both

She feels if she stretches her arms out,
Her hands will feel  cold, damp
No, not damp —slimy —slimy, wet walls
And she knows the walls will be closing
in on them, on her

He, on the other hand, feels as if the ground
is disappearing beneath their feet
That the more they talk, the less real his world
is becoming
Until soon it and he, will become entirely weightless
He knows there will be no keeping him grounded
That his drifting away from her will have
the permanence of death

Still – try as they might to quell them,
Bitter words, crisp as alum, fall from their lips
Spill like old blood on the empty china plates
Plinking like coins, each one louder,
Uglier than the last

Her hands fly to her face
Touch the heat gathered there and
the salty tears leaking freely
Her voice is stayed and she stares
at him blankly, wondering again,
How is it they have arrived at this place...

The silence gathers like snowdrifts,
catches his ear; he stops to listen,
Stares into her leaking eyes
They stretch their hands towards each other
Grasping for some remnant of their love,
Her lips tremble with the absurdity
Of the notion that they may try
This staying together thing  another time;
How can she consider the idea
For even a second, when they both come
From such vastly different places,
Remember such very different pasts

She tries to remind herself how badly
He rewrites her history
How embellishment is one thing but now,
Every recital  of her transgressions
Has her growing more evil, less well

Then, tonight – oh my God – tonight
She’d almost forgotten that they’d
actually opened
Old-new wounds, some things she’d believed
scarred over
Were apparently never fully slashed apart
in the first place
The fact of the fiction has her feeling surreal
She can't tell which way is up, north, down, east
Her discombobulation so great, she feels
physically unwell

How could her memory be this faulty?
Could she really be this far off the mark?
She feels demented – she knows she's
subject to sadness
And bouts of mania – but demented?
Does she also have to accept that?
Dementia seems such an old person’s thing...
Besides she couldn’t be wrong
about all of her history —
Could she?

S.E.Ingraham©



15 comments:

  1. Love your take on the prompt, Sharon. I especially like:

    Then, tonight – oh my God – tonight
    She’d almost forgotten that they’d
    actually opened
    Old-new wounds, some things she’d believed
    scarred over
    Were apparently never fully slashed apart
    in the first place
    The fact of the fiction has her feeling surreal
    She can't tell which way is up, north, down, east
    Her discombobulation so great, she feels
    physically unwell

    ReplyDelete
  2. There is so much in this that is so deep and, so touching.
    Old-new wounds, she is discombobulated.
    There is nothing at all nice nor welcomed by anyone at all with dementia. What a sad subject but one that you have taken and interpreted with such love, sadness, depth.
    I LOVE the elephant background. They are such magnificent creatures.

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is an extraordinary take on the subject of dementia - a look at the experiences in life which are so unexpectedly heart-breaking they make one wonder if one is sane.

    Thanks for participating on Real Toads>

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oh, Sharon first I'm wowed by your elephants and the words around them and second your poem is a work of art.

    The section that really captured the emotion of it all is the same that Laurie picked.

    Excellent, writing!!

    ReplyDelete
  5. This is a beautiful piece for the prompt...you have taken its pain from the mind of one who is living it...

    ReplyDelete
  6. Very painful. It does seem like we used to think of 'dementia' as being an 'old person's thing,' but more and more I hear of / know people with Early Alzheimer's. Yes, sadness AND mania. So true. You've really got inside of someone with this most dreaded diseases!

    ReplyDelete
  7. "The silence gathers like snowdrifts,
    catches his ear; he stops to listen,
    Stares into her leaking eyes
    They stretch their hands towards each other
    Grasping for some remnant of their love"

    But each has rewritten the history from their own perspective, there is no place to revisit together! This feels like dementia when you are living it, but isn't it much more personal, much more lonely? True Dementia, tragic as it is, is not personal, is it?

    ReplyDelete
  8. Oh you have written this so real and so true. That feeling of words causing the chasm to open, when the ground slips underneath one's feet. I LOVE your elephant background. WOW!

    ReplyDelete
  9. very lewis carroll esque, terrifying and illogically sound. I love the way you use abstract concepts to deliver a notion I faintly recall having during a dream.

    Strangely, as I was reading this, I was listening to my iPod on random and Broadcast, Corporal came on, which is inspired by alice in wonderland. Good work, you

    ReplyDelete
  10. Oh such a poem...so many good lines there to enjoy......

    ReplyDelete
  11. There are so many lines of profound wonder and emotion and beauty, I really can't single out my favorites. Quite simply, this was immensely satisfying.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Amazing write. And when I got to the end I was surprised that is was her who was demented... or was it?

    ReplyDelete
  13. Thanks to all who came and read "Over Dinner" and commented ... it was intriguing to read the variety of interpretations of this poem which, for once, had a semi-autobiographical basis (a very unusual happenstance for me)- I value other poets' insights greatly so appreciate what everyone has said ...

    Regarding the many comments about this terrific elephant ... I wish I could take credit for the photo but it is a Blogger template by mskowronek ... I love it too ...

    ReplyDelete
  14. S.E. was going to comment that this was very reminiscent of a painful family struggle - where the recollections are so vastly different and. wounds tentatively thought of us as healed "scarred over" gush fresh blood - until one is driven to question one's own sanity - for there is no other explanation - to be completely wrong about one's own history "all" of it would excepting dementia or more angrily "being demented". My take was the writer clearly felt she was not. Hmmm now I see an autobiographical reference could delete the interpretation and simply write powerful poem or some such...which this is...also rings with authenticity and genuine pain ... BRAVO

    ReplyDelete
  15. Hey Pearl - thanks - not to worry about first impressions or later ones - I like people to take away whatever they can from my work and sometimes feel explaining the process diminishes that possibility but for some reason felt I needed to do it here ... who knows why ... I love your comments - you are a thoughtful insightful reader as well as a wonderful poet in your own right so it's always a thrill to read what you have to say. Thank you so much.

    ReplyDelete

Share your thoughts? A word or two? All or any, welcome ...