My grandmother’s teeth stare at her <br />from a mason jar on the nightstand. <br /> <br />The radio turns itself on, <br />sunlight crawls through the window, <br /> <br />and she thinks she feels her bright blue eyes <br />rolling out her head. <br /> <br />She’s certain her blood has turned to dirt, <br />that beetles haunt the dark hollow of her bones. <br /> <br />The clock on the kitchen wall is missing its big hand. <br />The potatoes in the sink are growing eyes. <br /> <br />She stares at my grandfather standing in the doorway, <br />his smile flickering like the side of an axe. <br /> <br />Outside, in the yard, a chicken hops <br />through the tall grass, looking for its head.<br /><br />Chris Tusa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alzheimer-s-2/
