Saturday, March 28, 2015

The Key

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.'


  1. Ah Ginny, this is well observed and touching. Isn't music an amazing thing?

  2. Music is engraved in our memory. This is sad but beautiful. I have seen it myself and dementia is heartbreaking.


Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.