හිතවත් කියවන්නාට

Dear Reader |  Rita Mae Reese

You have forgotten it all.

You have forgotten your name,

where you lived, who you

loved, why.

                      I am simply

your nurse, terse and unlovely

I point to things

and remind you what they are:

chair, book, daughter, soup.

And when we are alone

I tell you what lies

in each direction: This way

is death, and this way, after

a longer walk, is death,

and that way is death but you

won’t see it

until it is right

in front of you.

              Once after

your niece had been to visit you

and I said something about

how you must love her

or she must love you

or something useless like that,

you gripped my forearm

in your terrible swift hand

and said, she is

everything—you gave

me a shake—everything

to me.

               And then you fell

back into the well. Deep

in the well of everything. And I

stand at the edge and call:

                  chair, book, daughter, soup.

දිනමිණ වසත් සුළඟ-20. 02.2018