The bracelet labels me “Caregiver,”
gives me an ID number
labels me as one who looks after someone with memory loss.
But there are some days now
when I don’t want to “care,”
don’t want to answer the same question for the tenth time,
days when I try to find the courage
to say no to another trip to Starbuck’s,
days when I don’t want to explain which is the phone,
which is the TV remote,
days when I tired of coaxing him to eat,
to take his pills, to brush his teeth,
days when I have ask him not to wear his pajama top to church
even though he calls it a shirt,
days when I’m tired of being angry and frustrated
when I am lonely and miss the brilliant, funny man I knew.
There are days when I want to take off that cloak, that bracelet
and travel to an exotic landscape if only in my mind,
when I want someone to ask me if I would like to go for ice cream
or would I like to watch a movie?
when I wish someone else would take out the trash,
days when it would just be nice to be remembered
days when I wish someone would take care of me.