Midnight in the Alzheimer’s Suite  

Floyd Skloot

Lost in the midnight stillness, my mother
rises to dress and begin another
chilly day. She crosses the moonlit floor.
There is too much silence beyond the door,
and a lack of good cheer, so she breaks
into song. But the coiling lyric snakes
back on itself and tangles in her throat.
She stops long enough to see a cloud float
along the hall, but somehow the cloud speaks
in the voice of the night nurse. Someone peeks
from a doorway. Now someone starts to moan,
someone else coughs and my mother’s stray song
returns for a moment: oh you belong
to me! If the audience would quiet
down, she would remember. Opening night,
that’s what this must be, and the curtain parts,
and the spotlight is on, the music starts,
but there is too much movement, too much noise,  

yet she cannot stop, must maintain her poise, 

smile and keep on singing. Then it must be 

over because the night nurse is there, she 

embraces my mother and leads her back 

offstage, whispering, bringing down the dark 

again. Tired, but pleased with her last set, 

my mother lies down for a well-earned rest.