We all know a little something of exile,
the way the sun abandons January,
the exodus of wrens from jasmine
in late August. For the Alzheimer's patient
the body is a foreign land and every face
a stranger's. My mother-in-law's
exile sighs along gated walls
and vanishes beyond the front door
like all the beaches she ever walked.
It picks the locks in her dreams at night,
steals each memory and texture,
then scatters them, salting the earth.
Refugee by Rick Mulkey | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser
$15.00Price
