Her Mother

Perhaps written in haste,

In the heat of feelings she barely fathomed,

Her words pouring out,

Unchecked in bold print,

In the midst of my day.

Her mother is lost

In the thicket of her mind,

With only smiles in answer

To yesterday's words.

We sit together

Each month counting the ways
That are lost to her now,

Of dropped numbers

And forgotten words,

And little for me to do

But to place my hand on hers.