She floats her way through shadowed halls...
as thought escapes from its confines,
an image of a younger self
so long ago—she can’t recall—
absorbs once more into her mind.
Her later years have not been kind;
perception fades into a fugue;
old names and faces cast a blur
and all the memories left behind
have slipped away, eluding her.
But still she finds familiar route
to afternoon’s sweet interlude:
pale parchment hands touch ivory
and without pause or moment’s doubt
she reaches out to find the key.
A moment later song concludes—
in haste, the memory disembarks;
she fades again behind the veil…
locked away in solitude
this aging soul with body frail.
© Ginny Brannan 2015
Amazing how the mind works: because music is stored in a different part of the brain, someone who has dementia may still find comfort in music; the hands remember what the mind cannot. Written about a dear nonagenarian who still manages to 'tickle the ivories.'