A Full Heart

I read him poetry,
and he cries.
He's eighty two and has Alzheimer's.
It's a joy being with him now, 
an opportunity to come from the heart
and leave my mind,
as his mind, at times, leaves him.
I recite poetry with feeling.
He loves the feeling behind the words.
He can hardly speak at all,  yet he understands a a lot.
I talk to him as an intelligent man,
and it connects with his memory of self-respect.
He yearns to be respected,
for people to see beyond his crippled mind,
and see what he was and still is underneath it all.


So I read, and he responds
with broken words, tears,
and a full heart.

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