Dementia Bus

The glasses they give me
darken my vision, blur it

into shapes I can’t immediately
recognize. I’m supposed to


set the table for breakfast,
write a check for the electric bill,


put on the brown jacket—
not the blue jacket—


and sort the shirts in the laundry basket—
long sleeved from short.
This is a premium subscription story. Please make a $4 donation to access the individual story or a $50 donation to access all the stories in Narrative Backstage for a period of one year.

If you are already a user, but not yet logged in, you may login here.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.
The password field is case sensitive. Account & Password Help.