Alzheimer's and Old Lace
By Shannon Musgrave
My Grandmother's brain
is eating itself into old lace
as she sits here in the sun
like a cat in the windowsill,
staring,
just staring.
Her face is a mask
devoid of all expression.
I know it is the empty spaces,
the holes in lace,
that make it beautiful,
and I peer into her faded eyes now,
searching for some of that beauty,
some tiny hint
of the piece of work
that was this woman,
but emptiness is all I see.
She looks back at me sometimes.
There is no spark,
no light,
no recognition.
She does not know who I am.
She does not know who she is to me.
And I wonder,
as we gaze at each other,
into which of the holes I've fallen.
Poet's Showcase features work by area poets. Submit your poetry via e-mail with a subject line of Poet's Showcase to mpaget@ljworld.com or send typewritten (not handwritten) submissions to Mindie Paget, 645 N.H., Lawrence 66044, attn: Poet's Showcase. Teen writers should submit their work to the 18 & Under page at teens@ljworld.com.
Commenting has been disabled for this item.