The Dance

By James Bates

 

One day…not much is there. 

Mom’s eyes are dim with memory faded, 

Words come hard and the spirit is flagging.

Then, it is as if a song begins,

And through the deep recesses of forgetfulness, 

There emerges a kind of light,

Renewed energy and a plan. 

Conversation begins. Words once forgotten form. 

She smiles as she remembers how to speak.

“Let’s do this,” she says, and we do,

As she takes in her surroundings,

Observing and assimilating,

Talking and asking questions,

Almost like in the past. 

Close enough, anyway.

And I am happy for her.

We sit and chat like before.

Memories rekindle. Today is recognized, 

And tomorrow becomes a very really possibility.

I saw her mind dance today,

In perfect step and time and rhythm with itself.

It was as if she was sixteen again,

Jitterbug dancing in her parents basement,

Getting ready for a dance contest.

My fingers tapped in time,

Humming along with her as we talked,

And the music played on and on.