Losing
I didn’t lose her like you lose a purse.
Or keys in a different room.
She didn’t leave one day and decide
Not to come back.
They didn’t find her dead,
Face down in the woods.
My father didn’t lose her in a crowd,
Or at the Harvest Festival supper…
He didn’t lose her to childbirth, divorce
Or even cancer…
Her best friend didn’t lose my mother easily,
They could sit and talk and laugh
And laugh some more...before…
When my mother had her memory
She was young and pretty and took care of me.
When my mother had her memory
She told me stories about when she was a child.
When my mother had her memory
She didn’t forget so easily or repeat so often.
We lose her slowly right before our eyes…
We see her losing her way in a clear fog.
We hear her use the word she made do with
And the further she slips,
The tighter we hold on.
Ginny C. S. Sanchez Oct 15, 2007 C Copy right
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