recording my book of poetry about Alzheimer's

 From Experience To Book, Physical and Audible

1st, I experienced,

2nd, I wrapped words around the experience

to hold as much of the moments as I could,

3rd, I collected the moments into a sequence to transform snapshots

into the visual coherence a slideshow gives us,

I hope it all held together enough

to approximate the coherent story of a movie,

4th, I self-published it all into a hardbound book

with illumination of word and illustration,

and now, 5th, I read and record each poem in turn

so that I relive the moments in order,

I work to deliver the words 

as if for the first time felt, thought, revealed,

I love how well the words work, while I also recognize

that the moments I reached to hold are beyond what any of us

can know and appreciate with the vitality each moment deserves.

by Henry H. Walker

August 19, ‘22

centered in the Piedmont

 the piedmont calls

it’s my last afternoon of the summer here in the Smokies,

we hiked in the morning with the air so hot and humid

that the water flowed from our bodies,

and the air rejected it,

little to no evaporative cooling,

we chose a four mile hike

with about a mile of hard down

then even harder back up,

by late morning we were back at the cabin,

after savoring yellow-fringed orchid and a young bear,

early afternoon, a storm sat on us,

moderate rain while lightning flashed and thunder roared,

the creek comes up, only lightly brown,

since upstream is forest greedy for soil,

the Piedmont calls me:

our home, garden, plans, work,

usually I see a cardinal flower blooming about now,

the cherry on the top of the sundae of summer,

this year I found none yet blooming,

instead, I sit by the creek,

and I work to hear the voices calling me home,

I am already home, here,

yet here is a home I need to visit, not where I need to live,

I need the center where my wife and I have built a life

that is true to the best of who we are: 

our visits up here are wonderful,

still, we need the centering of the home we have built together.

by Henry H. Walker

August 6, ‘22

navigating rocky terrain

 The Jump-Off!

every time a significant hike looms before me,

one that pushes the body

in aerobics, in the working of eye, foot, knee on irregular terrain,

I fear the fall, whether from a misstep

or from lacking the wherewithal to keep pushing up, and down,

knowing the time will come when body and will, won’t,

today we hiked over 6 miles along the upper ridges of the Smokies,

heart and lungs pushed,

decision of where to put the foot a challenge on the rocky terrain,

two hours up, two hours back,

the views welcoming and magically inviting all along the trail,

the views at our goal: spectacular!

forest and ridge below and before us,

as if we have won a lottery that gives us a ticket

to the best views of distance and depth

nature allows in the high country,

time slows down just before, during, and after the Jump-Off,

as if we are in Faerie,

I fear this moment at the glory of the Jump-Off

might be the last up here my time will allow, 

and I also fear forgetting to be in the joy of this particular moment.

by Henry H. Walker

August 2, ‘22

things of the past vs indeterminacy of the future

 

things and memories all a-mingle

what a gift to us

can be the things a person leaves behind

when the spark leaves the eyes,

for we make choices in what we have,

what we keep,

that reveal pieces of us

through the pieces they are:

books, pictures, memorabilia,

and the stuff that is more trash than treasured memory,

but still stuff that helped us get through a day,

we follow the daughter into her mother’s house

where the things of a lifetime fill the surfaces,

are piled upon themselves,

the treasured and the trash all a-mingle,

the daughter both daunted with the scale of the project

and pleased with the possibility of bringing order

back into the chaos death left behind,

it is a gift to be simple,

but each thing in life can hold a moment,

moments we treasure and want to remember,

so we tuck them away

and hope the thing will help us call back the time,

order is an elusive guide,

and often one not to follow,

too much order denies the temporary disorder of the creative,

and substitutes stasis for growth,

when our ancestors were migratory,

necessity demanded culling away what to keep and carry,

now the boxes of our houses can hold a lot,

so that yesterday can be with us in what we see around,

yet it’s a yesterday harder and harder to retrieve,

throughout the house our niece labors to clean and set right,

a lot of her mother lives in the things

saved but not sorted,

hoarded but not prioritized,

a wonderful woman lived here,

one haunted by the people and times she had lost,

her daughter labors to clean out, prioritize,

to maybe share with family and friends

the things, the furniture,

that might call up and preserve

the wonderful parts of the past,

and carry it into the indeterminacy of the future,

the daughter and the mother are one,

each step and choice in the clean-up

reinforces the memories that can reach to hold

more and more of what is lost.

by Henry H. Walker

July 31, ‘22

as if the magnetic field is gone

 

we spin

a life can suddenly end,

all the systems caught up in a cascade of glitches,

and a vibrant spirit no longer can assert itself

through the eyes, through the words, through the actions,

all of us who are left to still look out our own eyes

can no longer see the person who is gone

concretely in the world before us,

but we can feel her absence

as if a glue that held all together dissolves,

and there is no center to hold us

in the way we’re used to,

death is a lonely god,

and we can feel as if lost,

the magnetic field gone 

that helps us find direction,

so we spin.

by Henry H. Walker

July 31, ‘22