Where do the words go
when they slip through the cracks
of my mental filing cabinet?
And where is recognition
when they reappear
no longer categorized
or referenced –
out of alphabetical order –
not even an inkling of recall
as if our acquaintance is
akin to discovery?
(The Daily Prompt is inkling.)
hardwood…
it rolls off my tongue
stops in mid-air, mind halting
Is that a real word?
I stretch for familiarity,
find none – I apologize
quizzical expressions
indicate my mistake –
such a funny word,
I fumble for explanation
humiliation crowding
How do you spell resile?
my English teacher brain
searches, comes up empty
Do you mean reconcile?
No. So I google it
discover its validity
spell it out –
can’t say I ever knew the word
thicket, I type
and then back space –
need a term to describe
prickly shrubbery, off
the beaten path, but
it eludes me, the letters
line up but fail to evoke
recognition. why
is my mind turning,
blank spaces replacing
stored knowledge, as if
corruption has overtaken
memory’s files – thoughts
sputter, drop beginnings
and endings of words –
dragging me through muddy
fog, shutting me down…
(Note: for those that don’t know me,
I am challenged by ME/CFS, a disease
that affects cognitive functioning.
Writing is a way for me to battle
the deterioration – this poem
illustrates the frustration.
Image: pixelmuttz.blogspot.com)
One Woman's Quest 