Toward the End,

by Jenny Morelli

it was a struggle

to remember her own name,

but Mom never forgot

her Brooklyn address

her forbidden boyfriend, Renee Ortiz,

her first cat, Cotton,

Splenda. Harmonies. Piano keys.

Neil Sedaka.

Image credit: John Broks on Unsplash

Toward the end,

she only spoke gibberish,

between her utter silence,

but I choose to believe

her Swiss-cheese brain

was really receiving intel

no mortal should know,

garbled signals

those not worthy enough

can be privy to, lest it cause

a societal collapse, lest we fall

out the window of this great big

spinning rock and crash-land

in a different reality

where up is down and truths

slant sideways and lies

float backward

and we’re all inside-out

because something went wrong

in our prime reality

freckled with infidelities

and riddled with winds

and cyclonic commotions

of leaves. I choose to believe

those who seem ‘demented’

from memory loss

have really just had

a system update, a download

that transcends our logic

and pedestrian comprehension.

Toward the end,

maybe there’s no solid ground,

nothing to bridge us to them,

nothing to span here

to there, nothing to provide

any hope for salvation,

enlightenment, revelation

except an utter silence

where answers can flourish

and grow to become something

better for this world or the next.

I choose to believe

that toward the end,

we may struggle

to remember our names

and the current date,

but never the important things

like our cherished family address

the first true love of our lives

the first pet whose soul

touched ours unconditionally,

maybe that one sweet treat

we hoarded to carry us

over the bridge we’ll travel

to the other side.

***

Jenny Morelli

Jenny Morelli is a high school English teacher who lives in New Jersey with her husband and cat. She is often either inspired by her students or else they're triggering memories in her of when she was young and struggling with her self-confidence. She has been published in a number of literary magazines, including Spare Parts for a novel excerpt, Spillwords for several themed poems, and Bottlecap Press for her own chapbook This is Not a Drill.