The Untitled Poem

I often found my mother seated with Roger in the lounge, chatting as if it didn’t matter than she was 15 years older than he and subsumed by a later stage of the disease. Or as if talking about anything at all was a primal ask for connection that all creatures would instinctively manage when placed in close proximity. They could have been dolphins, turtles, or tigers. Creatures who somehow recognized in each other that which had now been buried.