MOTHER IS NOT.

Mother is not who
She was; she would

Never have cursed
Or swore or raised

A two-finger salute
Before, never have

Put aside manners
Or given that up you

Sign, no matter how
Stressed or tired or

Out of salts. Mother
Is not at all who she

Once was, some other
Seems to have taken

Her place, put words
Into her mouth, hidden

Behind the same face.
Mother’s conversations

Take on a surreal mode,
Rising upwards, then

Out on a limb like some
Bird with a broken wing.

Your love for her has
Not lessened despite

The dementia’s hold
On her mind and ways,

And looking at her now
You remember better days.