Somewhere in My Mind
There, then gone,
lost somewhere.
How to address this
when there is no memory.
A hundred times a day,
I go to the well.
Each time I return
with an empty cup.
Nothing to do but go on,
moment to moment,
try to break the spell
as I greet each moment,
looking for the memories
lost somewhere in my mind.
This poem is my response to Poetics: Lost poems and Found Poetry, the prompt from Laura Bloomsberry at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a found poem from one of those provided, with no required adherence to exact wording or order and the freedom to add to the “found” words. I have used Lost in Plain Sight, by Peter Schneider, which was sourced from Poetry Foundation. The original appears below, with used words in bold.
Lost in Plain Sight
By Peter Schneider
Somewhere recently
I lost my short-term memory.
It was there and then it moved
like the flash of a red fox
along a line fence.
My short-term memory
has no address but here
no time but now.
It is a straight-man, waiting to speak
to fill in empty space
with name, date, trivia, punch line.
And then it fails to show.
It is lost, hiding somewhere out back
a dried ragweed stalk on the Kansas Prairie
holding the shadow of its life
against a January wind.
How am I to go on?
I wake up a hundred times a day.
Who am I waiting for
what am I looking for
why do I have this empty cup
on the porch or in the yard?
I greet my neighbor, who smiles.
I turn a slow, lazy Susan
in my mind, looking for
some clue, anything to break the spell
of being lost in plain sight.
rivrvlogr 
You’ve captured that feeling well. (K)
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Ken your poem reminds me of this song:
Such frustration, futility, and so much more…
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The frustration in that song is a perfect fit.
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Skilfully done. ‘A hundred times a day,/I go to the well. Each day I return/ with an empty cup.’ Conveys memory loss so poignantly.
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Thank you.
I wish it weren’t so, but I’ve been plagued with a poor memory all of my life. Having that compounded by age is frustrating.
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Bravo! this was so well done – you kept the feelings of the original but found expression your way
“Each time I return
with an empty cup. ”
excellent!
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Thank you, Laura. 😀
And thank you for the prompt.
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This is really an excellent condensation of the poem. That going back and forth with a cup always empty is a stark cycle… not just short-term memory but full-blown dementia
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Thank you, Björn.
Yes, I had many repeated conversations with my mother. Hers was mild, mostly affecting her short-term memory (which may as well be long-term, cumulatively). She did not revert to past memories or act irrationally, but repeated mini-strokes took their toll in reasoning. I don’t think too often about her last two years, when she lived with me. I’d rather remember the good times.
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This was a superb write Ken – directly to the heart of the reality, the almost panic to again find the string or reconnect the dots. This was strong, but hard for me to read — way too familiar, but hits hard. Excellent.
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Thanks, Rob.
exit room
renter with hope
forgotten
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