by Mary Beth Magee
Mama went away today.
Her eyes focused on nothing.
(Or perhaps on something only she could see.)
Her ears closed to my voice,
She could not hear my words.
Her mouth spoke nothing
And she became a silent statue.
Mama sat in her chair,
Disconnected from her world.
She gave no acknowledgment of
My comings and goings in her room,
My ministrations to her body.
For hours she sat there,
Hands clasped together in her lap
As though holding to a lifeline.
Mama went away today.
She withdrew to a place
Where none could follow.
Was she happy in her new location?
Was she frightened?
Did she feel alone?
I tried all day to connect with her
To no avail.
She gave no response to my touch,
My voice,
My hug,
My tears.
Mama went away today.
“Not yet,” I cried.
“Please not yet.”
There’s so much I want to tell her,
Too many things left unsaid.
Too late to say them now,
She won’t hear the words
Or the heart behind them.
Damn, but I hate Alzheimer’s.
***
Mary Beth Magee has been writing prose and poetry for as long as she can remember, with an aim to uplift, illuminate, and inspire. Her work has appeared in local, regional, and national periodicals of both professional and nonprofessional nature as well as her own books and numerous anthologies. She lives in south Mississippi and serves as the Mississippi Poetry Society's 2025 Poet of the Year. She is a mother and grandmother.
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