A baby doll clutched
tightly
in his calloused palms.
Rough
blistered fingers
trembling
as they ran through the plastic hair.
Limp sagging arms,
gently
guarded over the doll,
as if it were
his own.
The murmured hints
of an old
folklore tune
that we
could no longer decipher.
Cracked lips
coming together
and then back
apart.
My grandad,
diagnosed with Alzheimer’s six years ago,
lost the ability to remember,
yet could not forget
how to
love.
Beneath the shimmering evening sun,
the undertone
of the sizzling pan,
greased smells,
he patiently sat
crisscrossed,
waiting for dinner.
Rocking back and forth,
grandad hummed
the soft tune
to the doll within his arms.
Words he could not articulate,
dissipating
as he whispered,
shielding the child of his own,
from the world he could not make sense of.
Joy is a freshman in high school who loves to read, write, and paint – exploring all the different ways to express stories to the rest of the world. Poetry is a new medium she hopes to use to help illustrate her thoughts and feelings. In her spare time, she often writes about topics she cares about on her blog “Planeto.”