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| Janine Pickett |
Alzheimer’s-For my dad
His memories fade in and outlike elusive twinklings of light
in an ever darkening sky
and I try not to cry.
Fear and confusion shadow his face
as he fights to push through the black holes,
the void. The lost places inside his mind,
where a life resides that he can no longer find.
As the silence between us deepens
and words no longer hold sway,
I value our moments of "presence"
for I know I am just a memory-
Slowly and painfully slipping away.
Searching The Field For The Lost Place at Dawn
The cornfield shivers as it awakensto the morning heart cry rising from the earth
the sky opens pink, dew clouds soak the stalks
spiders slide down golden husks, then climb again
weaving intricate cities of silk
A hawk gives warning with perfect timing
circling, gliding, dipping
above rodent bodies, above me,
above blood stained soil and ornamental bones
pointing the way of no return
I forge deeper, to the middle of the field
seeking the clearing, revisiting the lost place
where my grandmother planted morning glories
where the arrowheads still give testimony
where the rain rattles the leaves
where I first became a woman
in the field, with my husband
shadowed by deer in the moonlight
moving cautiously, gracefully--all of us,
in the clearing,
among the corn
