Friday, March 24, 2006

Losing His Name

The man sits on the sofa,
reading his newspaper.
He doesn’t know
how to write one to ten in words,
though he remembers
that he wrote poetry,
that the names of the friends he knew
come into his dreams at night.

He doesn’t seem to understand time,
walking into a room
again and again
asking the same question
as if to remind him
where it’s gone,
where he can find it.

Outside of stepping in the office,
he rarely goes anywhere.
Perhaps each new place
is like a spiral that turns away
from where he is,
losing his name
and the places he’s been to
like the numbers he can’t write.


9 comments:

didi said...

Jill - I need you to record this poem for me.

Let me know when it is ready.

thank you -

d.

Jill said...

hi didi, thanks. i sent you an email.

Jill

Michael Parker said...

I've been back a few times to read this today. I simply like how you capture the loss of memory here. Your approach is humane and that endears us to this elderly man, without any superficial strings.

Pris said...

Jill
I like this one, too. Glad it's going to be recorded.

luc u! said...

i have i told you lately how much i like your poem stuff?

Jill said...

thanks everyone. i apreciate the feedback.

burning moon said...

wonderful poem Jill

didi said...

Congratulations on making it to the Goodnight Show.

Didi Duda

Jill said...

thanks burning moon.

and didi, thanks very much. i'm honored to be on the goodnight show! i listend to it today and i will go back to read the poems again. early faves are ron padgett's and david ayers'.