And They Keep On Running

Sitting at the kitchen table with my parents and Poppy
surrounded by photos and old newspaper clippings
tediously cut and glued into an old book,
I sat in silence.
Not used to the quietness from him, I sat awkwardly.

I knew what was happening inside of him.
the Alzheimer’s was taking over,
Pushing the memories far back, into oblivion.
Quickly the disease came and even faster it destroyed.
My face, a familiar one
A face that bore his resemblance.

I looked down at the old newspaper clippings in the book
Gingerly picked up the one entitled: Escape at Alcatraz Prison.
The article was about three prisoners
who questionably escaped from the prison.
No one knows for certain if they survived and truly escaped their bondage.

I looked up at my parents and Poppy,
Silence still abundant.
Dad who was also shuffling through the photos
Picked one up and held it out to Poppy.
A picture of my parents and I
taken in the same room where we were currently.

“Poppy, which one is Jordyn?”
Dad inquired.
Poppy pointed to my dad.
“No, that’s not Jordyn”
Frustrated and confused, Poppy pushed the photo aside.

I looked back down,
The tears welling in my eyes.
I flipped to another photo
A boy running, running
Through an empty town.
No direction, and he’s not looking back
Fading into the bleakness of the situation.
Running further away with no finish line in sight.

I look up at Poppy.
His face fixed and eyes unaware
The twinkle gone and the smile lost.
The Alzheimer’s had come,
The city had gone,
The boy kept running, and
did the prisoners ever escape?

My decision to continue with the pictures
Or face my reality?
Every moment is not promised
Every face not remembered.
The prisoners, they had to be free
The boy needed to keep running
Poppy tried to keep remembering.
The news becoming my reality —
The reality dashing away —
And I am left here.

 

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