I wanted to ask her how it felt

when she lost her mind.

How, ever so often, she seemed to forget-

the scent of lotus she once loved

and how, like the night, her fantastical happiness

was inconstant.

Perhaps that is why she desired to burn

the old photographs leering from

the white walls of her trap.

I wanted to ask her how it felt

when she seemed to forget

the lullabies she spent hours

begging to hear,

or the rough texture of a palm her

had caressed her with.

Perhaps that is why she aspires

no longer, keeping the frame of family in her head,

crack in the reflection,

perfect and desolate

at the same time.

I wanted to ask her how it felt

when she lost her mind-

when she lost her youth.