Contemplation On Loss Of Self
By Marian Vervaka
They say the sense of numbers is the first to leave.
Arithmetic and I were never on good terms.
All through grade school, I counted on my fingers.
Now, each entry in my check book is rounded off in zeros.
My children gave me a calculator, but I keep forgetting
About the batteries.
A little joke – it’s a relief to know my sense
Of humor is still here. But will I realize it
When the laughter slips away?
How many other powers disappear
When our backs are turned?
When we are busy living, dreaming, thinking
Of something else – how do we know
What has gone away, never to return?
Why do I startle awake from dreams
In which I am still a child?
What room is this? What house?
What strangers walk beside me?
They tell me my name is Lilian–
Touch me
Am I here?
Arithmetic and I were never on good terms.
All through grade school, I counted on my fingers.
Now, each entry in my check book is rounded off in zeros.
My children gave me a calculator, but I keep forgetting
About the batteries.
A little joke – it’s a relief to know my sense
Of humor is still here. But will I realize it
When the laughter slips away?
How many other powers disappear
When our backs are turned?
When we are busy living, dreaming, thinking
Of something else – how do we know
What has gone away, never to return?
Why do I startle awake from dreams
In which I am still a child?
What room is this? What house?
What strangers walk beside me?
They tell me my name is Lilian–
Touch me
Am I here?
