On how dementia slowly, takes over, translated…
At the Very Beginning
The Cruel Winter Was Snowing Down on Us
The Northern Wind Blew Harshly by
We Squeezed Tightly, Next to One Another
I’d Heard that Nostalgic Oldie Underneath
Your Chaotic Breaths
what it felt like, for someone who’s diagnosed with dementia, NOT my artwork…
I’d Also Heard that Vibrato Clearly
Turns Out, You’d Turned Your Asthma into the Rhythms
Are You Really Going to
Conduct Those Dried Up Years of Youth
With Your Wrinkled and Deformed Fingers
Between the Grayed, and Thinned Out Hair
We Met Again
We Were, Very Close to One Another
The Snow Stopped Outside
Your Grayed Out, Lowered Gaze
Started, Staring into that Icy Cold Plain in the Distance, Seemingly, Lost
You’d Fallen Silent Now
Like the Snow that’d Fallen
You’d Contemplated Silently
About the Life You Just Had
Everything You’d Weathered Through
Those, Out-of-Focus Moments in Time
We Were Very Close
In Your Imaginations
Inviting You, to Dance Along in Your Wheelchair
Those Dried-Up, Parched Lips of Yours
Still Had that Hint of an Old Smile
not my art…
And that Scarf-Hovered Neck of Yours
With that Lightly Scented, Older Brand of Perfume
We Were, So Close to One Another
And I Feel
Your Thirties Aged Mild and Gentle Nature
As Well as the Loneliness that Became, Endless
Due to Your, Alzheimer’s
So, this, is how those diagnosed with dementia are, they are, constantly, living in their own separate pasts, like the poem suggested, and, everything became unknown to you on the outside, you’re, trapped, in your own little worlds, living, those age-old memories of your childhood, adolescent, young adulthood years…