She thinks I am someone else

She thinks I am someone else…

Asks where my mother is.

Consoled by my answer

She tells of her war baby

Born in an air raid.

Tells me to take the child –

Take him to the children’s home before

Mother sees him –

Hands me a carefully folded newspaper

“Watch his head.”

As her muddling fog descends further

She is lost to me again

And in a language I do not speak

She asks where her grandmother is.

She thinks I am someone else.

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