A poem

Who will care for me?
in my days of decay
when they become indistinguishable
one from one another,
when I sign my name that I
no longer truly recognise, or admit
that I don’t understand
a single part of it,
who will explain it to me patiently?
not my brother or family
I never kept up connections, now my life
dwindles into itself,
unread books and mementoes on a shelf,
the refugee will care for me
that is who, the one who had to flee
everything they held dear,
it is the refugee, in their new world
that is who will inherit me.

Chris 2025