Grandma - Mar 13

Memories lost within a frozen mist And dangling in the static atmosphere Of muddled recollection of things dear Haunt the backwoods of the years she has missed. Through foggy glances, blurred thoughts that persist In the dim haze, shapes of the past, appear; These flittering figures, some far, some near, Skitter through her mind, meek and shadow-kissed. But soon they drift to a fathomless past, A time she can no longer touch, just hear. Rocking mechanically, her face austere, She searches, brow stuck in a furrowed twist. As I watch her eyes wander vacant space, I wonder, “Will she still recall my face?”