Detour

Her mind,
unwilling,
or unable
to intertwine and commingle
with the increasingly impenetrable
extent of her helplessness,
creates its own intricate version
of the genesis of her fears.

Once familiar objects
are no longer recognized,
placed there, she says, by others.

They become a threat.

She sees change where none exists,
instead of recognizing
the changes
in herself.

How do we wake her
from one nightmare
to the other?

Which is worse when you are 81--
the imagination
or the reality?