January 23, 2015

Dementia’s Deliverance: To a Misty Mother on Her Birthday. {Poem}

hands, mother, son

On a Winter Solstice morning I carry wood to the fire
and stoke the arcing flame’s urge to obliterate night.

Borean breath burns those bones of trees slant ways
fueling gulps of scorching air borne to the sun’s rays.

Mother-child squats and stares her eyes pierced red
wondering where the winds have taken off the dead.
Her child-mother speaks no more of willow branches.
A baby gone old too, a sooty, sallow skinned witness.

Sheltering arms of her wisdom’s rock a bye morrows
I miss, her torch words of smoked images we chose.
Mother mine of childlike mind your birth was foretold.
Alit on Winter’s day, a searing blame to mothers cold.

With spoken mind’s hibernation, a wintry song is nigh.
Buried deep in fiery sleep is sensor twitching sunrise.
Yet a love surrounds her misty eyed daylight slumber
as Elven sprites spark shards shot of ember’d lumber.

She is my meadow lullaby cracking the icy pines now,
a cataract covered window pane framing a faint brow.
The pitter patterned words of incantations made flesh
are a witch’s brood of progeny, a sweep of stony ash.

The shortest light of the longest night brightens a sky
she never sees anymore in wheel chaired walk a bye.
Maternal flickers of the northern lights in babies’ arms
is left the love encircling a stormy eye’s chaos calmed.

Love elephant and want to go steady?

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Author: Pamela Gerber

Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: stale h/Flickr 

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sapkalshubham114 Feb 20, 2015 6:45am

Mothers Day Poems

Inthegazeoftheother Jan 26, 2015 2:44pm

Thank you for your comments. While it is difficult to see my mother fade into oblivion, I am consoled that I get to witness her journey and that distilled to her essence, even wordless, she is still able to make others laugh and smile. She is a powerfully beautiful woman I am proud to call my mother.
I have tried to honor her in having my first published poem be about her. She was a 16 year old high school drop out but a mother and wife who determined to have an education, and so, in 15 years' time, she earned a GED, AA and, one class at a time, a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature. She would be proud of me. I take heart in that.

Rolf Goellnitz Jan 22, 2015 7:48pm

The poem moved me quite a bit as I also have a mom with dementia, but she's living far away in Germany. Not that familiar with English poetry I read it several times, in the end loud to myself to get a better feel for the rhythm. It feels true to the heart. I enjoyed it very much.

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Pamela Gerber

Blogger at inthegazeoftheother.com, which is themed on the mistress memory, mother of two beautiful teenaged daughters, yoga practitioner and college English Instructor.