Percolating

At work I watch the old

grow older—fragile minds,

needles stuck on

skip and repetition;

yesterday’s names resurfacing

on today’s faces.

Two ‘sisters,’ borne of

location and circumstance,

chug down the hall.

“Toot, toot”  announces one,

echoing once, then once again.

Their two-chair ‘train’

arrives in the front parlor.

First stop: the front window,

to scan for the car she

hasn’t driven in 15 years.

“I forgot where I parked” she says.

After a moment or two, car is forgotten.

“Dottie” she says, “Lets go sit

on the patio for awhile.”

The other–not now nor ever ‘Dottie’–

follows her, ignoring the misnomer.

I ask how she’s doing as she passes.

“I’m percolating” she says, as train
leaves my station and wends by
on its merry way once again.

© Ginny Brannan  2014

Google Images: Imagining how these gals would've looked half-century ago!

Some may see these inside tales as sad, as in "Oh, how sad to be in a home, how sad to have impaired memory." Working there, I can tell you they themselves are anything but sad. One is in her mid-'90s, the other in her 80s. They are well-cared for, and despite the younger one struggling with memory impairment, they have developed a close friendship and camaraderie with each other and many of the staff. We smile hearing that "Toot, toot!" knowing that they are 'on the move' again!