the fading light

as your
mother slips slowly
into
ill health,
the spark
fading from her
once nimble mind,
the light
dwindling
from her brown
eyes
you try to stir
her up
with a memory
or two from
the old neighbor
hood.
she laughs,
she smiles, she's
in the moment,
but then she asks
you the same
questions
for the third
time in ten minutes.
so what are
you doing now.
how's your wife.
your son,
where is he?
you tell her again,
then again.
but it's okay.
you don't mind.