WATERMARK

This wrenching, middle-of-the-night poem is for the day nine NaPoWriMo prompt:

. . . write a persona poem — a kind of dramatic monologue . . . pick a character to inhabit . . .  someone you’re not . . . and write in their voice.

Dementia

Of course   I always knew
trust no one        but still
my mind       the one solid thing

it slips.            

I hear the call

to prayer.  Beautiful.    I used to pray
and fast.           I still fast
   but on my own schedule.

Time, it’s meaningless.

Trust love least of all.
Those you trust best
        the most treacherous.

Degenerative. Terminal. Degenerative.

Memories      I’m not always
sure      I thought
sometimes I’m delusional
        was I wrong?

  Do you hear that?

Fuck ‘em if they won’t
                                                    Fuck

                    What time is it?