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.