by Jill Michelle

Now you can’t find your sentences.
Are they hidden in the ice box  
where once we looked for treasures: 
your keys, remote, glasses, watch?  

Are they hidden in the ice box  
forgotten on the office desk like 
your keys, remote, glasses, watch? 
Will we ever finish unearthing things  

forgotten on the office desk like 
that legal pad, the novel you began? 
Will we ever finish unearthing things— 
syllables strewn, verbs tossed?  

That legal pad, the novel you began 
slipping into Alzheimer’s grip— 
syllables strewn, verbs tossed 
just ghost notes, punctuated loss.  

Slipping into Alzheimer’s grip 
now you can’t find your sentences— 
just ghost notes, punctuated loss 
where once we looked for treasures. 

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Jill Michelle's latest poems appear/are forthcoming in DMQ Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Gyroscope Review, Funicular Magazine, and Drunk Monkeys. Recent anthology credits include The Book of Bad Betties (Bad Betty Press, UK) and Words from the Brink (Arachne Press Limited, UK). She teaches at Valencia College in Orlando, Florida. Find more of her work at byjillmichelle.com.