Give It To

The image in my mirror, (Some loving mother’s son), Has no identity, No name from anyone. Mottled thoughts surround me Each one a treasure trove Living there as episodes My past has lived and wove. A woman in my doorway Asks: “How you feelin’, Dad?” But I cannot recognize This wandering maenad. Things appear before me Throughout my normal day But recognitions of what they are Alzheimer’s stole away. I can’t feel the sorrow, The loss nor the disdain Within a face before me Upon which displays pain. I’m filled with love and longing Which I want to shine on through … But, I can find no one I know To whom I can give it to.