Hollow Man

[Fegger]

Awakened by the summons
Of the moon, he wanders.
His eyes, vaguely responsive
To light fluctuations; and
He often weeps when dishes are washed.
He calls my daughter, ‘David’ or
Simply barks at her.
At midday he routinely gathers
All family photos, stacks in towers.
He interchanges tasks of the dinner table
And the bathroom, incognizant.
The cat seeks him out and
They seem to find comfort together.
We keep mittens on his hands;
For, without them, he’s prone to
Bore holes to the bone.
When outside, he’ll rush toward the maple;
Embrace it, like Mom, and cry.
On Sunday mornings we have come to expect:
A laundry basket prepared, by him,
Brimming with loose crackers, milk, cheese,
Broken eggs and cat litter.
He creates knotted chains with his shirts;
Laughs, hysterically at the sound of the vacuum;
Sings, ‘In The Garden’, whenever it rains.

While, for years now, I have prayed
That this is solely dormancy;
And someday, he will be full again.
I solemnly wish that I had no memories of him;
This would make my love for him less complicated

[PrinceMyshkin]

A vividly etched portrait of, I assume, senility, with a heartbreaking final line.

[Fegger]

Thank you, sir.

[ampoule]

How lovely and sad and honest. This couldn't have come at a better time for I am going through this with a friend as we watch his father age. How baffling it is, to watch a mind slip from reality or perhaps free fall into it.

[Delta40]

I was confused initially but as I read, I felt the theme of the poem calls for it.