My Grandmother Stricken with Alzheimer’s

1.
A blizzard of static blows across the screen—
   Alone in the TV room on the second floor,
   you do not recognize me anymore—
I lament the loss of crossword puzzles,

romance novels, afghans in which I’d cuddle
   while we watched an episode of Mary Tyler Moore—
   In the background I’d hear your darning needles
clicking like a metronome. This was home—

In Schmittsville, factories are catacombs—
   Bethlehem Steel and Mrs. Smith’s Pies,
   Neapco, Penguin Polish, and the demise
of Snyder’s Pretzels, Doeller’s, and Firestone—

The Schuylkill River floods her banks of clay
   eroding Arm and Hammer Boulevard—
   Heaps of metal rust in rail yards
where Sears & Roebuck parking lots decay—

Steel girders fade to pale green
   on bridges made of rivets, bolts, and lead—
   Muskellunge and pickerel have fled
the waters where they once had been—

I lament the loss of narrow rows of corn,
   of fields plowed by green and yellow tractors—
   Behind your yard loom nuclear reactors
Uncle Bill had planted in ’79—

2.
An engine, severed from electric trains,
   repeats its useless loop around the track—
   Like a sparrow in a cage, you’re trapped
watching reruns of Hill Street Blues—

Occasionally, your channels get reception—
   You say, “We’ve got to keep on trying”—
   Even though I know you’re dying,
I tune you in to evening news—

Maryann is coming for Emily’s shower—
   For Christmas, Marcia bought Amanda a horse—
   Albert, my father, is getting his second divorce—
Matthew releases anger at the archery range—

Pennsylvania farms and Lutheran steeples,
   it hurts to watch you lose your mind—
   I lament the loss of Neiffer Road
where you boiled marrow into scrapple—

Banished to the spare room,
   you close the curtains of your eyes—
   Downstairs, Grandpop slays his violin,
rehearsing Brahms’ German Requiem—

Your hand forgets the cabinet of glass
   where figurines of skaters gather dust—
   Painted porcelain cardinals will outlast
Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras—