Cecile

A long-time neighbor sits by the window

In profile, her face looks so old now

She has misplaced her memory somewhere on a shelf

She looks at me with eyes that are mostly, empty, of her former self

A once vibrant woman, who could tango with flair, who loved to throw dinner parties and cook up a storm

Who was so ready to laugh at everything, everyone, including herself – so happy – so warm

I visit her at least once a week – she is usually about the same

Her eyes always brighten, but she does not know my name

It hurts to see how old age has taken her essence leaving her hollow and robbed

Then she will turn and say something like: “Remember dear, life is meant to be lived. It is not a mystery to be solved.”

Her whole self flashing through, and I trudge home relieved and happy that I came