Jarred Memories

jar - wordgatheringOur time together has changed over these past few months. What once was an uninterrupted stream of conversation that felt like a long walk through our old neighborhood—familiar, filled with memories—is now staccato-like thoughts expressed in limited vocabulary. Her memories, stored like jars on a shelf, opened only when she has the mental strength to do so. I see the struggle in her eyes to piece together words to go with whatever picture floats through her mind. If only I could see the label on the jar to help her open it, like I did with the pickles so many years ago.

my love, my wife ~
memories remain…even
if locked away

P. Wanken

Shared at Margo’s Wordgathering

Another poem written in memory of my Grandma Grace,
who struggled her final years with Alzheimer’s Disease,
and my Grandpa Leroy, who cared for her until the end.

Long Grove Days




I close my eyes and my feet take me over the covered bridge and down the middle of town, among rustling leaves, past the perennial pumpkin patch photo spots and cider mill, where I smell spices mulling and their famous apple treats, baking. The air is crisp; wearing a sweater, along with having the sun on my face, is enough to stave off the cold. Children at play are everywhere. I hear their excited voices as they anticipate the candy they’ll consume after trick-or-treating has finished and darkness falls on this idyllic street. I open my eyes and see palm trees and flowering bushes, yet the time spent with friends in Long Grove is burned into my memory.

miles may separate
people from friends and places,
not their memories

P. Wanken

(love & miss you JLG!)

Shared at Phoenix Rising