Grandma

 My grandmother's name is Helen.  She is now bed-ridden with complications from Alzheimer's.

the air is thick with the rotting stench of years long past-
this place hasn't changed in a decade.
you wouldn't have wanted to see things this way,
it wasn't your style,
letting your world get old, and
stale.
every day was a new idea for a grander and more
beautiful existence.
you were always the glamorous one,
the stand out kind,
the artist, the designer,
the lady who wore the big, fancy hats
in a sea full of clones.
i always wanted to be as fearless as you
someday.
i recall late nights,
long talks as you
brushed my hair until it shone,
early Saturday mornings that always
promised the best biscuits and gravy this world will
ever know,
you, paintbrush in hand,
teaching me about creativity...
now,
i see you lying,
motionless,
and i know,
i've already said my goodbyes.
that past died the day you forgot my name.
but once in a while,
you turn to face me
and i think i see the remains of that old spirit-
and i hope, above all else,
today,
you can see that same spirit
reflected in my eyes.