We were ushered into a small room.

There were boxes and boxes of puzzles

piled high in a corner. Dust has settled

over everything. I presumed there weren’t

many visitors. After an interminable time,

Mother came. She wore a long white

nightdress, she was heavily sedated,

her hair was beautifully combed. She

seemed confused, she didn’t recognize

us, she spoke no words. I guided her

to a chair, but she wouldn’t sit. Mother,

it is us. Please say something, I said

desperately. A ward orderly came. It

was time for Mother’s medications.

Come along, dearie, the man coaxed

gently, and Mother was shuffled away.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

240 thoughts on “Puzzles”

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