Wellington Place

/ Arambler

After all these years, all
you have said, you’re still
afraid 

of him. He has only a few
words left. They won’t hurt. Rarely did.
It was the ones 

he threw at those around you.
To be so privileged
can be a burden. In his weakened 

state, new hip just beginning to settle
into the mechanism that is
what’s left 

of his life, why
this fear? Yes,
you’re losing him 

the way we all lose
one another. There are no guarantees,
no ultimate reprieves. This is a slow burn 

singe around your original
edges. No way comes without terror.
Whose? Yours? His? 

All of those others?
With the spoken
language disintegrated, 

what’s left is this raw
love. You must look it
in the eye. Don’t turn 

your head off his
steady gaze. Remember,
who he is.

21 thoughts on “Wellington Place”

  2. Thanks Matt. My father has Alzheimer’s with severe aphasia–sometimes I can’t write about it all, and sometimes it’s the only thing I can write about.

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    • Thanks. I appreciate your comment. It’s hard for me to not write from the personal, and I hope that I can offer something to someone out there.

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