About adapting to a new life and a new post-TBI self

When a Rose is No Longer a Rose

c 1992 Stephanie St. Claire

You look into my eyes
you hear my voice
and feel my touch.
You see me walk
and move
and breath.
I am alive
and still the same
as you hold so tightly
to the familiar name.
The memories still exist;
they guide me,
to fulfill your expectations
of who I once was.
If the rose is fragrant
and the fragrance familiar;
the feel of the petals,
and thorns on the stem,
and the sight of it
evokes familiar memories,
can it be but a rose?
If memory fades,
or fills in the gaps,
to make sense and order
out of confusion and fear,
can you be blamed
for seeing a rose,
or me for wanting to be one?
A book and its cover,
a memory and a rose,
The loss
once felt
is grieved...
in time
both are replaced,
as reality softens memory
and beauty is seen once more.