Whispers above her wheel chair
create a new world.
Later, she'll remember
He was here, today or perhaps
a week ago, Alzheimer's
digging roots.
She'll be gone soon
from the nursing home, eyes
fixated on the overhead lighting,
her green dress an impact
in the room, wheel
chair at attention, scratching
her leg, routine.
Tummy is full, dinner was - peas,
or chicken, potatoes cut
into little hunks, good too
she thinks, and
bread with dessert, ice cream
a cherry on top,
red like the setting sun.
Tilts her head, attentive
to One voice, sensing
she'll be going home soon.
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