Final Visit

Hi Folks,

A few weeks before Dad died, Larry and I visited him at the Assisted Living facility. He was in the late stages of Alzheimer's and I was in the habit of jotting down things he said, sometimes because they were lovely and sometimes because I wanted to try to make sense of them later. Today I looked back at the notes from our last visit and "found" a poem. Here 'tis!

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Final Visit

Dad hands me a warm rose petal,

brown, around the edges,

“Huh. Soft. Feel that.”

A withered woman asks,

“Can you open the door for me?”

But the aide says.

“No.

She’s not allowed out.”

I’ll take him out

through a different

door.

He stops in the maple shade,

“Trees, to me, are attractive.”

“Lately, I’ve been taking

photos of people.

I’ll photo them

down

to nothing.”

Almost Spring.

Sun on his temple.

“My end is—

I’m carrying it, I think.

I’ll unload,

put something together,

and close up.”