Issue 8 – Wasilewski


Nells Wasilewski

Piece by Piece

My Dad loses his words,
and leaves in the middle
of conversations.
He goes to war,
or the farm where he grew up.
I follow him there, and we talk
about those things.

He tells of battles he fought,
while holding his imaginary rifle
in perfect military form.
He sees long abandoned gardens
still productive in his mind.

Sometimes,
we sit and share moments
over a cup of coffee.
During these brief interludes,
his mind is alert, and we forget
his diminishing awareness.

Piece by piece, he drifts
deep within himself—
his foggy mind closes in.
I want to go with him
and bring him back,
but I can’t follow him
there.