She Smiles

I bring you home. Home
to mother, bent of mind,
but not of soul.
She smiles.

I bring you home. Home
to mother. You communicate
with pen and pencil.
A good conversation
is held.
She smiles.

And she 'says', "I like daisys."

I bring you home. Home
to mother. Eating is
such a chore. You
can only watch
until the food
finally finds
its
way
down.
She smiles
and
Alzheimer's laughs
and
claims her.

Copyright Denise A White
originally written 8/30/2011