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

not my photo still…

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…