Living with Mr D. by Judy Dally
1.
At 2am
or 4 pm
or sometimes
10pm
just after
we go to bed
he gets up
to make breakfast.
He asks me
“Do you want breakfast?”
And I say “No
It’s too soon.”
It’s just too soon.
2.
For some reason
his feet
don’t tuck under the sheets
so
night after night
I lift his feet into the bed
spread the sheet over his legs
and tuck him in.
Like a baby.
3.
When we sit
in a group of four
there are sometimes
just
three of us.
4.
On those nights
when he isn’t sure
what time it is
what’s going on
who he is
(maybe
who I am)
I lie in the bed
with my back to him
and make him hold me.
I place his hands
on my skin.
Eventually
he settles.
Rests his head
against my back.
Breathes deep.
Sleeps.
5.
His family thinks
I’m a perfect carer.
They see me guiding him,
holding his hand.
They don’t see
the angry rants,
the frustration.
They don’t see
the empty bottles
in the wardrobe.
6. Our conversations
aren’t what they were.
His body
isn’t what it was.
Our memories
don’t always connect.
He is always
three steps behind me.
But I love him.
I still love him.
Bedroom in Arles by Louise Nicholas
Vincent van Gogh, 1888
The bed is borrowed from fairytale: too hard,
too high for a golden-haired intruder in need of sleep.
But see how it matches the word – the head and foot-
boards of the b and d, the e of the mattress between.
How clean and cheerful the room appears.
How blue the walls, the doors. How the sun
squares its shoulders to each window pane
and daubs its yellow light on towel and chairs.
Can't you see him hanging his coat and hat
on the hooks, sweeping with a straw broom the bare
boards of the floor, arranging his hair brush, the basin
and jug, on the washstand beneath the little mirror?
He leans over the bed to straighten the paintings
on the wall, and now he’s ready with canvas
and oils in the primary colours of childhood,
to paint this place of inviolable rest.
For a time, his manic imagination is stilled
by straight edges, right angles and clean surfaces
where nothing casts a shadow…
A razor waits ready-stropped beside the blue jug.