and i think of the dawn above augusta

sunrise obscured by cloud

our minds sliding straight to the easy distance of antarctica.
disappointment in the greyness disappears with rising birdsong

and sextants of light measure themselves against the inlet.

and i think how again again we would return

and never in that time lose touch with beauty.
you asked about mama only once. whose memory we’ve known

hasn’t been cutting-edge for a while, but whose memory

might never get better now. dementia, i repeat (as she does) dementia. 
and dementia is           like a slowly-opening tear in some fabric mama or grandma

might sew.  the two        parts of a brain, in this context at least, (those being

the past or memory                and then of course the present or now) gradually separating,

quite bewilderingly it 	               seems. the sufferer (the demented?) and those around

them (the demented)                     angry or really sad or even guilty. stricken by whatifs. but

that is nothing to the fear                    of the person with the illness. it creeps and sneaks and

then the guillotine. Mama’s                   handwriting decline scares her and papa tells her

no i won’t repeat it you should                      have written it down but she has and just

wanted clarification. or jesus                           you should be ashamed because i’m visiting

and have to finish cooking                                dinner because she has filled all the pots

but doesn’t know with what. and                               there is decline in overall cognitive

ability with more gaps total but                                 the silk tears too and tears fall easy.

soon stories of memoryfamily are                               easier to recall than what in the name of

was i doing? but i sit with her and                                The Sky Runs Right Through Us by

the estuary. she, in this place of mostly                             memory, with focus and calm and

mirrorwater moments, constructs novel                   readings and says the word incongruous

with only a little time in the recall, so	                    the present re-threads a little. she stands

and points and we yell SHIP AHOY                       to a catamaran cutting south and we wave

our arms and i’m a little self-conscious          for less than a moment because WE LAUGH

oh we do. until the kangaroos appear                        with the big boomer and she is

shocked back to confusion and a little                        fear. and worries that she should be

cleaning or cooking so edges by the razor-                   reeds and steps again inside to move

papers back and forth and write shaky                            dinnerplans in smudged pencil.

and i feel the sting of memory also, of                              when i would tease aunty j, mama’s

sister, who had alzheimer’s. she was ten                             years older than mama and the

family brought her over from Melbourne                              when she was diagnosed. she

would come to birthdays or Christmas from                            her (fancy but bleach-scented

nonetheless) nursing home and we’d give                             presents. i’d say happy birthday

many times and she would always reply is                                        it my birthday? and the

table would chuckle but also tell me to stop.                          and i wish i had. because for

aunty j the rip was widening and the two                                minds splitting such that she

remembered the names of her Melbourne                               cats but not her carers and,

suddenly, not even Mama. because she                                    didn’t know her as this dignified

silver-haired old lady, but only then as a                                   child and young woman

in photographs she was shown to remind                                    her that i’m rosemary don’t

you remember? and then she had a                                                stroke and her minds tore

entirely, and Mama’s a little more.                                                   and dementia is such that,

eventually, it’s all (and less) past                                                                    and no now.