As a caregiver to someone with dementia,
It’s difficult to remember what they were,
Before the tangles and the plaques
She dressed impeccably,
Everything matched, even things you couldn’t see,
Now she wears checked pants and a plaid shirt
Her clothes stained,
Her hands sticky,
And that nail polish, not a color she would ever be caught dead in
If I close my eyes,
And push the dementia away,
I see her from the seat of my bike
She’s strong and vibrant,
She’s standing right behind me,
Ready to catch, if I fall
I must stay with her,
Standing sentinel,
Witness to this long and slow descent
