MY FATHER

Always wore a Saint Christopher Medal,
Patron Saint of Travel.
I told him tonight Saint Christopher
Would be with him on his next journey.
His face was blank, eyes wide with visions of the other side.

Alzheimer’s robs one of almost everything,
Not just memory,
Which we are half composed of.
A beautiful life of faith and love
Like moon dust, swept away.

Bruises cover my Father’s body, a sore every
Few inches, a discolored bandage,
Thin skin, touches leave bruises everywhere.
He cannot move. Tin Man.
8 years of forgetting
More and more:
The struggle to simply swallow.

This disintegration,
This long intersection
Of life and death
Is Hell.

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