He wouldn’t say her memory was lost
But that she was lost in it—the foggy past
Clung to her and calcified to frost
Until, at last, her very present passed
Through this shimmering glass of memory.
He woke once to her sitting up in bed.
The drawl he’d thought she’d left in Kentucky
Returned in whispered words to kin long dead.
“Git up Nell—you, Betty—why y’all asleep?”
“Please lie down, dear,” he said. “They all have left.”
In faithful confusion, she kissed his cheek.
He tucked her in, rolled over, quietly wept,
Then, at a sound, looked round, as if to see
Her silent sisters heed her prophecy.
—Daniel Luttrull
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