Aunty and the Mind Caves

Aunty lost three pounds of memory, it happened slowly, the clock on her mantle ran faster, the rain began to fall slower. Her cat was a stranger, then an ex-lover. 1300 grams of her vanished in slow motion. The gray-matter remained though it was hollowed out by blind angels. At the age of eighty-two she demanded a dog. We bought her an automated one that moved and barked. Eventually though its computer-chip failed, aunty did not notice she was by then busy discussing politics with Theodor Roosevelt. I once asked her what he had to say? She replied that he had confided to her that ‘the dead remember everything’ that seemed so sad to me.