I’m losing you slowly, day by day,
moment by moment, word by word.
The memory of what just passed, a conversation,
instructions for your cell phone,
a call from a son or daughter, a news broadcast,
plans for the afternoon-- slip beyond your grasp.
I see you reaching, stuttering, trying to find the word, the thought,
searching for the file
somewhere in the cabinet of your brain.
The void flies across your face
leaving an emptiness in those sad blue eyes followed by a frown of frustration.
I miss your humor, the laughter
replaced now by furrows between your brows.
You depend on me to hold the facts, to bring the past to light,
to repeat the time, the person, the place so that you may once again be present.
In a minute you will ask again.
I will answer with a sigh,
remembering with love who you once were, forgetting that you forget.
Kay L. Cox