Tillie slumps in her wheelchair under hand-stitched patchwork for warmth. She’s shrunk with age, both body and mind. She stares, emotionally flat…until they place young grandson on her lap. They sing “Jesus Loves Me” off-key together and watch little birds chirp behind glass.
Eight years of Alzheimer’s…enough for anyone to suffer this long goodbye. Her breathing shallows as family gathers round. Last grandson arrives as they hold matriarch’s cool-veined hands in prayer. She quietly exhales one final breath after family members murmur, “Amen.”
lap quilt for keepsake
her once sharp eyes, now shadowed
trust we’ll meet again
…
Haibun on “momento Mori” linked to dVerse poets where Frank Tassone hosts pub for Memorial Day.
a poem in my pocket 