A Poem for Joe Because He Loved Them


He read poems read words

read playbills out loud book flaps even a menu  years after he got dementia

still read poems even on the stage at Brevitas

never went anywhere without a good book

came upstate last summer read a few

of his own poems on the porch carried them in his pocket

he loved with enthusiasm until the end

all his family all his friends his beautiful Annie

and so many good poems

Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.


  1. I stand on the edge (yes) of dementia and look out over the terrain as I have always done with perimeter moments, looking out over the terrain of the day, not in a back packed head racked kind of way but as one looks out over a terrain to be trekked today.

    Your poem is a reminder to touch the world caringly but sparingly.
    Dementia is going to be just another trek and I will be looking always to forks in the trail and as Yogi said if I come to a fork I will take it.

    Thanks for the poem, Esther.

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