Dementia

Has seized our marriage by the throat.
Made us snap and snarl and spit.
Slap. Shout. Hit.

Heart pounds. Door bangs.
Pace outside, let it settle.
It’s summer, it’s beautiful.                    

I pout, sulk.
Shrug. Sigh. Frown.
Who is this woman I’ve become?

The girl you married with long black hair.
Your honey-brown eyes, your voice, so warm.
Your trust. Mine.

It was good for a long time.
Now your gaze is veiled,
you wear someone else’s smile.

Your voice wobbles,
anxious, edgy.                                      
...