Something a little different in this series as I attempt a bit of prose myself.
This is the hand that held the pen
that wrote the words
that filled the pages
that engaged the reader
that soothed my memories of a mother that once was.
These are the flowers that caught her eye
that wrapped themselves
into a brain loop
that continued for an hour:
"I think those are the flowers
on the table in the dining room."
This is the chair that comforts the body
that rests the mind
that reads the words
that envelopes the day
that relaxes the core of an elderly woman.
These are the books that fill the hands
that stimulate the brain
that occupy the hours
that flood the eyes
that enrich the days of an aging parent.
This is the desk that faces the window
that begs to work
that beckons a writer
that sits alone
that no longer provides a pasttime.
This is the book that visited the hands
that tried to recapture a memory
that provided a discussion
that filled an afternoon
that left as fleetingly as it came.
My mother's poem Alaska.
All photos and video taken by me during a visit with Mom July 2011