Moth, Alzheimer’s Unit

In Whittier Wing North

below the hallway handrail,

a resident sat cat-like, waiting

with eyes alert. It took three

swipes to snatch the flappy

winging creature circling for

hours like a moth. She clasped

it in her claws, held on tighter

than usual, then raised it up

close to her eyes. At last, got

it, saints be praised. So elusive,

so easily lost, the word for him,

“Honey”. She’d hold it tight

with all her might for when he’d

come again so to call him Honey.