Your mind
began to drop
pieces
into the river
like bones sifting down.
You forget
the children’s names.
You forgot
how to cook an egg.
You forgot
you didn’t love me.
You forgot
you ever said
you didn’t love me.
I tried to tell you
our sad story,
but it was trying to
unpeace
your mind from the river where
bones and stories dissolve.
My sieving fingers lifted
empty from the water. You said,
“I’m glad we are together.”
I accepted your last truth
as your best truth.
A shiny new story.
Together
we smiled.
(This poem about my husband’s last months
was published in Stormes of the Inland Sea:
Poems of Alzheimer’s and Dementia Caregiving. 2022
Shanti Arts Publishing, Brunswick, Maine.)
Author: Patricia Mitchell Lapidus
We walk down the road wondering who we are, how we are supposed to live, and what happens when we die. Some folks like traditional answers. Some folks don't want to spend their time thinking too much. I felt called upon to search these questions in depth and in some surprising places. Each of my books is a story or group of stories about what I found during a wide-ranging journey. My home state of Maine was a hard place to leave. But I knew I had to go. And if I didn't make it back home to Maine except to visit, I did find home in the comfort and joy of discoveries that washed away the pain that had started me on my travels.
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