Memory Palace

She forgets the breakfast of bread
    
and fruit and coffee an hour ago—

Please feed me— Later, the lunch 

of milky chicken noodle soup. She 

used to lightly clamp a dozen pins 

in her mouth— Please feed me—

while deftly hemming the frothy

skirts of wedding gowns. A white

dressmaker's pencil sketched grain

lines on linen— Please give me—

She clutched the scissors close

and cried— Please take me— next to

the gate overrun with curling vines.  

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