They say she used to be beautiful,
that she had the most wonderful personality,
she didn't sit in bed all day and night.
I can only remember one,
the one who is so weak she can barely lift a cup to her mouth,
who rambles on about the past.
The one who cannot even recognize my face anymore.
She lives in an elderly home now.
Doesn't like it,
not one bit.
My mother gets so sad
when she sees her grandmother in such a horrible state.
I cannot understand;
not truly.
I never experienced the fun woman
who used to go horseback riding
or traveled the world.
Instead,
to me she will never be more
than an old, frail, woman.
Rosalyn, I really enjoyed the tone of this poem. I enjoyed that it was honest and descriptive. This poem puts the reader in your shoes and makes me feel like I am there beside you.
ReplyDelete-Caden Sheetz