Lost and Found
You got up by yourself this morning;
Put on your own knickers,
Said you fancied eggs and bacon.
You went outside, first time in two years,
To breathe the dawn air and
Survey the world since you left it.
In a few days, you remembered
Your name, the dog’s, who I was,
That the postman wasn’t your Dad.
You exchanged pleasantries
With the woman next door, no longer
Suspecting her of plotting your murder.
The hairdresser turned your flat feathers
To a helmet of curls, in the mirror
Igniting a glimmer of recognition.
We chucked the Tena Lady and Complan
Took the zimmer to the skip, turned
Your pill box into earring storage.
Weeks went by, you took the car out,
Joined the library, had a stab at calligraphy,
Tried your first chai latte.
Then on Sunday we came home and there
You were on hands and knees under the table,
Looking for something; you didn’t know what.