ALZHEIMER’S KISS
Yesterday my mother kissed me.
Her soft, dry lips
Pressed against my cheek tenderly.
I couldn’t recall her last kiss.
I must have been
A child, aged maybe five or six.
She’s now the child who needs care.
Sitting alone
In that nursing home’s big green chair.
From a strong family matriarch
She’s fallen to
Alzheimer’s, a mind in the dark.
And amid all her confusion
I hope she knew
It was me, not some illusion,
Who helped her walk, who held her hand,
Who listened while
She struggled so to understand.
Yesterday my mother kissed me.
I think she knew
The person she was kissing was me.
Copyright 2002
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling