Portrait of My Grandfather in Late-Stage Dementia
/Adam Gianforcaro
& so how can the mind / so vast & intricate
one day forget where to bathe / or how to breathe
or recall what happened to the perm-haired girl / the mind & body
had loved so dearly? / & so dearly the mind, an object
which admittedly picks up dust / but allows or taste & smell &
language, bestowing meanings to terms like neuro & un- / do.
The French have a language all their own / & a homonym
defined both as sheep & dust. / I think about this
word on grandfather’s misled tongue / how he wouldn’t know
not choose filth from the floor for his mouth, / how he wouldn’t later
know why he was coughing up / a lock of golden curls.
Author’s Commentary: When I was reading If Beale Street Could Talk, I came across a sentence that stopped me in my tracks. Baldwin writes, “The mind is like an object that picks up dust,” a line that is referenced in this poem. It instantly made me think about my Pop-Pop, a man who lost his mind and his life to dementia. My Pop-Pop, an artist in his own right, used to make beautiful pieces with stained glass, which produced vibrant gleams of color when light shined through them. This poem is the exact opposite of that. This poem is about creating art with darkness.
Adam Gianforcaro lives in Wilmington, Delaware. His poems can be found in The Cincinnati Review (miCRo series), Poet Lore, Little Patuxent Review, The Minnesota Review, and others.
