Sundowning
Daniel Kincade Renton
Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest 2016 (view all the winners)
Honorable Mention, Margaret Reid, Traditional Verse
A condition in which persons with cognitive impairment tend to become confused or disoriented at the end of the day.
—Mosby's Medical Dictionary
At night, it's not a lie to say there never was a sun.
So if she finds a chocolate, say it's Easter.
And if she says it's '63, agree we're in Verdun.
Despite her wind-torn body, she'll start acting 21.
You'll get to meet again if you're a stranger.
At night, it's not a lie to say there never was a sun.
When ocean water fills the beach, then we haven't got one.
When fog makes land, there isn't any water.
So if she says it's '63, agree we're in Verdun.
This sentence shapes each moment: fun is fun.
Semantics are wives' tales next to laughter.
At night, it's not a lie to say there never was a sun.
Her name is Debbie, don't call her my mum.
She's no one's mom, no longer married to our father:
she thinks it's 1963, she thinks we're in Verdun.
Going gentle into the good night is not an option.
This proud world holds it's ethical to suffer.
At night, it's not a lie to say there never was a sun,
so if she says it's '63, just say we're in Verdun.
