Lost

In rooms and corners and corridors
they speak to people
we can’t see.

‘You sit there! And you sit there!’
says one old lady
in a girl-like voice.

It brings to mind
a child’s imaginary
tea party.

Is she going to
hand out
cakes?

(She's someone's wife
in a past life.
Someone's mum).

I visit mine
in her room.

‘I’m lost.
It doesn’t take much to lose me.
I’m a poor old thing’ she says.

I focus on her.
I hope she can find herself
by looking at the old photos I bring
but faces are becoming lost to her

although she seems
to know who she means
when she plucks names
out of the air.

Veronica