Prompt 1: Morning

More than five million Americans are living with Alzheimer’s. That’s five million people who wake with a diminishing memory. And more than five million caregivers who wake to a new behavior or decline to adjust to.

We’re all aware of sundowner’s syndrome, when our loved ones become agitated and confused toward later afternoons. But, mornings are also a time of yearning for normality or maybe it’s a yearning for purpose and usefulness.

Let’s get started on our poetry journey. Write a poem about morning.

Whether it’s morning depression or it’s your worry about your loved one or how you perceive them to be feeling.

Here’s mine.

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“Morning”

All the promises of time shine
through the pastel curtains she
designed one upon a time when
she could remember how to finish
one thing.

Now she stares until dusk without
ever seeing dawn or a promise
of time.

Now, it’s your turn. You can share yours here. Or post a link. And if you just want to participate privately, that’s okay, too. We write to make sense of our world. Write Away.

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12 thoughts on “Prompt 1: Morning

  1. Where are You?

    Good morning.
    Is your day
    the same as mine?
    Not in what
    we’re doing
    or whether the
    sun will shine,
    but are we in
    the same place
    in time?
    Are you still
    my mother or
    are you back
    before I was born?
    Do you think that
    I’m your sister or
    some drifter who
    stopped to say hello?
    Where are you, Mom?
    I really need to know.

    Like

    • Michelle, that’s exactly how I feel in the morning when I stay over with my mom. Where is she inside her mind or where in time? My mom is always asking the same questions, but this is a wonderful reminder that we have just as many questions swirling inside our minds.

      Like

  2. “Are you still my mother or are you back before I was born?”
    Michelle, that’s so poignant.

    Like

  3. Timeless

    You wake up morning after morning.
    Do you know it’s another day?
    Do they all run together like rain on the window pane?
    Trickling slowly, then faster they merge – one great smear,
    or like a dripping faucet, excruciatingly protracted,
    or are you so distracted time has ceased to be?

    Like

  4. Oh, Debbie, you two, have all the same questions. It’s such a confusing disease. I love the image of mornings running together like rain on a window pain.

    Like

  5. Beautiful website, Janice, and such touching poems, yours and others. I wrote poetry while visiting my mother with Alzheimer’s in the nursing home her final year. Poetry has a way of poignantly capturing the deepest feelings, and the pain of watching someone with dementia runs very deep. Here is a wishful poem from “Poems That Come to Mind.”

    I reach my hand
    into the day
    searching its pockets
    for a penny
    to buy a new beginning

    Like

  6. […] for  The Slow Forget, Prompt 1 photo (c) Misky […]

    Like

  7. Linda, You are right about poetry reaching deep inside. And you have done exactly that with your poem. Your image is perfect. That is exactly how it is. Feel free to include a link to your poetry book in this thread.

    Like

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