Written in between sittings of reading Buk in Golm.

the back of my mind

the back of my mind
should be a garden
to sit
and read
and play ball in.

but it isn't.

my grandmother
should have lived
life
when she still could.

but times were not
like that
and it seems
she
was not like that.

she bade farewell
to
many many
things two or three
decades ago
and now
she thinks
I am a visitor
when I'm at home
having
coffee
and
icecream
with her.

soon
she won't be able
to bid farewell
to anything

because she forgets to.

the back of my mind
should be a garden.