poem to mom, owed to Alzheimer’s

and there you perch in your birdcage
high atop the trees and neighbors
observing the undulation, marveling
at the colors the world makes as it rots away

spying on leaves better left alone
compassionately watching them let go & twirl
broken helicopters spiraling down
resisting gravity with nothing but air & style

when they finally hit the ground
they seem to settle in for the duration
content to wait until it's time to act again:
meatless bit players in the animated carnival of love & fear.

My mother, Musette

My mom lived at the bottom of the ocean in Glenside, PA
where ages ago fish would wiggle
through her beautiful hair & leave eggs there
before their bones became stones and relics and ruin.

Mommy sat and sorted the trees that populated the hills
of an ever-undulating neighborhood
where the one real choice was up or down
and the colors of the leaves flicked past her eyes like time.

Mom slept inside a cozy box constructed by her sons
who’ve loved her without knowing her ‘til then
and the dog she adopted barked at everything,
bringing back the joy and noise of all her men and boys.

My mommy lived at the bottom of the ocean
and when I called her on the phone
her ploy was to ask as a joke who I was.
“Yours,” I told her and told her again.