Photo by J. R. Korpa
Déjà Vu
Kathleen Gray
It isn’t big events she remembers most,
though there’s nothing wrong
with her memory, or her eyes, following
every movement he makes
in her stuffy hospice room. He opens windows wide,
lets in a half-forgotten growl of traffic
from the boulevard below. He stands a moment,
arms outstretched the way hers used to spread
as he ran to her across the schoolyard clamour
that winter his father left.
Kathleen Gray
It isn’t big events she remembers most,
though there’s nothing wrong
with her memory, or her eyes, following
every movement he makes
in her stuffy hospice room. He opens windows wide,
lets in a half-forgotten growl of traffic
from the boulevard below. He stands a moment,
arms outstretched the way hers used to spread
as he ran to her across the schoolyard clamour
that winter his father left.