“Her eyes are the first indication of her infirmity, or rather that she resides in more than one world.” Stephanie Kallos
It's Unravelling She is old now, complaining supersedes vitality, anger launched at the world which has passed her by, rather than engage or indulge. I say to myself, she's doing a Stalin, painting herself into stories and memories where she never was, could never be, even in dreams. I call her the fictioneer, making up her life in retrospect, telling her story by invention because the real was too ordinary, arguing for the perfect image of herself, but it's all unravelling now. Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon All Rights Reserved ®️
parallax 
Wonderful peak into the mind of a person with possible dementia.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, have journeyed with a few, awful at times.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Goodness, what a very accurate picture of people we all know. There’s a lifetime of wisdom behind this poem 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, this poem is heartrending–and so, so insightful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I meant to add that I think it’s one of your best.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much indeed Liz.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, Paul.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Really appreciate this Liz
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great poem but sad
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, very sad.
LikeLike
Hence why it’s important to face who we are whenever we can. Too many stories develop otherwise but the truth will always be there.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, so true.
LikeLike
Bittersweet. Beautiful because the language conveys the intimate compassion and love of the speaker for the subject. Beautiful because of the subject’s desire for greater meaning.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for sharing this, Yes, insightful Lisa, much appreciated
LikeLike
I imagine it’s the way we’ll all go. Beautiful write, Paul.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I have that thought often – many thanks indeed Susi
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, Paul!
LikeLiked by 1 person