compos mentis

what day is today?
— depends — what if, for instance
alters the fabric of time
reflecting it back at you?

The ability to keep track of time can disappear. My sister and I are watching this happen to my mother. My poem is just a little disingenuous. It’s an attempt to argue that time can be flexible for anyone at any time regardless whether they have ‘dementia’ or not. We all have the evidence for the power of the imagination to bend time. But getting completely lost is another thing. I dreamed last night I was organising somebody’s time, coming to an agreement about a regular pattern of time involving Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Annoyingly, the rest of the content of the dream has disappeared so I have no idea what was to take place on those days.


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