I Remember

From my memoir class, prompted by I remember:

I remember when you were vibrant, your hair
massaging your shoulders, limbs long
and lean, your smile the flash of sunlight

You lie in the gigantic bed, your emaciated
body pale and withering, your head bald
with a small growth of fuzz reminiscent of
a baby bird’s down

The oxygen wired to your nostrils keeps
you breathing, but your spirit is already
walking out the door

Your soul still fills the room, and once in
a while your laughter reminds us of days
when time was inconsequential, and we
could afford the luxury of living life
that had no meaning

The rest of the time, we mourn you
in silence even though you’re still here

I don’t know how to love you any less
even though you are disappearing
from sight