Dresses danced themselves to the closet,

And sweaters folded themselves in those last days,

Pants just up and walked off.

Cards sit along her vanity with pictures and names—

Of faces and people she no longer remembers to a past that is no longer hers.

Those are pieces to a puzzle that she no longer has.

Her memory has surpassed her body,

As it floats like dandelion moss on the breeze—

Drifting in and out of rooms, our lives, and our memories.

The old piano clunks out a familiar tune by Glenn Miller,

The only one she can now remember.

She is old to me now,

Not that she wasn't before.

But a child can believe that the ones they love will live forever.

Now, our roles are reversed.

I teach her to tie her shoes, button her sweater, make her lunch,

And paint her nails.

I help her remember where she put her glasses, and she

Helps me by still hanging on.

Holding her hand and helping her up,

Knowing that someday, one day soon,

The piano's clunky melody will cease.