Curator's note by Stevie Olson: This week, the Mercury is excited to publish two poems by Amanda Custer. Both pieces explore Amanda’s experience of living with a grandmother who has Alzheimer’s. Her language is full of engaging imagery, and both poems use beautiful progressions to harness the reader’s emotions. We hope you enjoy.
For Julia
This is where the slippery slope descends.
Family photos now strangers.
Keys went missing from their hooks.
Turn signals swimming upstream.
Cups of coffee left untouched.
The occasional name forgotten.
Faces become blurred.
Lights stay on, sounds stay off.
Newspaper mountains multiply
Concerned neighbors. Frightened children.
This is the point of realization,
Those things will only get worse.
No, the names will not return.
The faces will only be strangers,
The coffee still won’t be warm.
Confusion that knocked on the door,
Is now lurking in every unturned corner.
A stark and deadly combination of fear, sadness, and regret.
Frantic, stones will be unturned; panic buttons will be pushed,
But soon it will all be washed away to blissful complacency.
The final destination is a lonely one.
People crying and screaming at vacant minds,
In timid hopes of breaking through to you in the silent prison.
No longer hungry always tired.
Rocking chairs and birds in windows,
Oxygen tanks with bright flashing lights.
A pink sweater, a glass jar of water,
A group of finches, the only comforts.
In a land where memories are dripping away,
Everything slips out of hands. All that’s left,
A hug, a cold bony hand,
A distant smile from within.
In the end a failed body, that failed its mind long ago.
Grandma
I miss you.
Where have you gone?
Where has time imprisoned your memories?
Does your soul still remember…
Or has hell itself reached up and taken that too.
Why do you stare at birds all day,
Like you know their secret.
How does you smile still brighten a room,
Even when you eyes are empty.
Are you somehow trapped in there?
Are you lonely?
Or does our constant knocking at your memory’s door bring you comfort.
Can you feel our sadness…
Or perhaps our deep anger for the cruelty this world has unleashed upon you.
I miss being asked if I’m cold, even if it is the middle of summer.
I miss seeing the concern you showed for everyone having enough to eat.
I miss your complete joy when receiving a birthday cake,
Because no one ever gave you one as a child.
I wish you could have seen what this world has become.
You’d see a lot more opportunity and hope.
But you’d also see a lot less work.
We have all gotten a little lazy.
I loved it when you would turn acorns into little tea cups and saucers,
And flour sacks into dresses.
I love how even though you grew up to afford fine china,
You still drank from glass jars which you hoard religiously.
I wish you could tell me all of the adventures you’ve been through,
That I could talk to you about struggling in school.
I wish that I could tell you how proud I am of you…
How inspiring your journey as a woman in the South during the Great Depression.
I wish you could see how incredible your daughter is as a mom.
I miss you.
(Photo by Jeff Drongowski)
July 03, 2014