Absence

by Beth Hanson, MS2

The absence of his cherry tobacco.

His pipe cold and sleeping in its box.

Nimble fingers lacking the artist’s brush

They’ve forgotten how to grasp.

The smell of his cologne washed away

By the stale scent of the nursing home.

Green puree instead of food.

A spoon without a knife.

Blue eyes seeing blurs,

Nameless shadows from his past.

Silent smiles, hollow winks.

But will he speak?

 

 

When he faces me, I know:

The Alzheimer’s has won today.