Nouns are deserting her.
Last week we had a long
conversation about “clutter”,
a catch-all phrase;
we agreed clutter needed
to be reduced, set in order.
I didn't know whether to call in
a gardener, housekeeper, doctor or priest.
There are other nouns;
but mostly it's a code I cannot break.
Would you expect the bonanza
of the royal wedding to become
“the folks up north”?
I try to think myself into her mind
but without success.
Does she recognise me?
Does she see clearly a world
she can no longer describe?
She is left, a solitary survivor,
struggling to hold on to
the remnants of a language
only she can remember.
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