In the ebbing sorrow of a setting sun
the muted melody of life's music
masks a faded memory.
She no longer remembers my name.
Motionless and still,
she sits - trance-like,
staring at glowing embers
in a fire that no longer burns.
Sometimes, a wistful smile appears.
Life’s diary lost,
her chronicle of years mislaid,
she dredges deep;
casting nets
for memories
drowned in time.
Darkness speaks a distant tongue.
She calls my name.
For a moment
her broken mind
is whole again.
Now,
it is my turn to remember.
The joy of my mother's unbroken mind.
Janna
Anna
You make Alzheimer's real in this piece by the vividness of your descriptions; not that we don't know it's real, because many families have experienced it in a love-one. May your poem stir all who read it to learn all they can about this dreaded possibility, and work toward the mental and physical remedies to reduce the risks of its occurrence. Poetry should move us, and yours certainly moved me.
--Robert
Cryssa