patience, I have dementia

 

she waited for her breakfast plate, quietly

without realizing—until she was told—

it had come; was right there in front of her

waiting for her, quietly—

to eat, to nourish, to keep her going

although she wasn’t sure

where she was going

 

today

she had dementia; don’t they

  know?

 

A REFLECTION:

 

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there’s no APP for that

 

brought to church as a boy;

a man when he married; and now passing

the building with a child on his hand,

but no more ring

he looks through the window plastered

in the busy way with notices: what’s Up Next—

sees the dates all land somewhere in the future;

and he laughs, knowing they do not know

what’s Up Next or might last—

not knowing this is not the question he wants

answered; it’s his own and needs to be heard

not what’s going to happen?

rather: What Happened?!

 

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graveside

 

this wind on our cheeks, the scent of lilies

mingles; we’ve come to visit

remember what was and might have been;

our love of heaven

expressed                    in simple ways

to hear her voice clothed again

with skin, the same as ours when

we all had things to say

that mattered (and didn’t_)

when we laughed

at ease

 

when death wasn’t scary

or real

 

was there such a time—when we laughed, mingled

 

 

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How to Read a Poem—spoken poetry

 

To read a poem

take off your shoes,

loosen your tie and put down your watch,

prop up something soft in the small of your back

because poetry

is an intimation of a suggestion

about a potentiality

that may or may not exist

for you—

something dangerous, so you want

to be comfortable

 

 

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