Things of August
(An Alzheimer’s Reflection)
by Michael Escoubas

It was a remembered time, something felt
that stayed with me after
Tom and I went canoeing down the Mackinaw.

As we portaged along the fence line,
tasseling cornstalks towered above our heads;
grasshoppers and crickets buzzed our faces.

We put in where the river ran cool and deep;
cane poles, worms and tackle went in next,
along with lunches our wives had packed.

The fishing wasn’t great; we didn’t care.
Tom told stories and jokes until
our ribs hurt from laughing. The sun peeked

in and out behind pillows of white clouds.
We came home tanned, our noses apple red
where the sun shot arrows through our skin.

Such memories and more return, as I witness
my brother’s slow descent
into moods, into signs that something isn’t right.

Like the river’s unceasing flow, so dementia goes
to its certain end … even so,
August things abide, in places only love can go.



 

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