Unspooled.
Silence stewed
memory that sat between
bouts of lucidity
like a third person,
as certain proof.
Living life backwards
she thought
of but good days
when laughter
lightened each room
in the house.
A stranger than real
mood persisted
curling old dreams
into curious
meanings as past
now became
fused to in-action.
Hair like unspooled
threads above
a lined forehead
drooped
in dry tangles
as she tied strings
of kept dignity
continually
round swollen fingers.
Time\'s passing
turns cotton to satin
when locked into
dementia.