She sleeps....and I...sit by,
Unwilling yet, to leave.
For now and then she stirs to see
Me.
The fear goes with the illness.
Anything
Becomes an object she must shun
or hide from.
Waiting for the light to come again
Is endless night.
With all her might
She hopes for some familiar face
Or time ~ or place.
It is easier to leave when I hear the
Rhythmatic breathing begin.
Controlled by involuntary impulses.
Bright, blue eyes will search
Again tomorrow.
They will find
Me.
Will my face still be familiar?
Or will the thief I fear
Steal my memory also?
Reduced to ashes and empty stare
She waits by the door.
Some ask why.
Why do I come each day to see?
Because
I am me. Because I want to see
Traces of the smile I knew
And sweet relief from the misery
Of losing every single precious memory/
The loving ways, the happy days,
When speech was easy
Recollection keen!
...The easy breathing comes ~
Go now ~ Take up Time’s hands
Until...the light comes....
Joan Clifton Costner
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