Thursday, April 23, 2009

Sharon's Time at Summerville

Inspired by the residents of Summerville and my experience from start to finish.


It all began with an assignment;
with letters and numbers and
It started out as "You have to."
But slowly it began to change.

From a jaded college student
so full of herself and sure she was
on the ball,
to a girl of only 21 who really knew
nothing at all,
I found myself changing
with each story told,
each game played,
each smile created,
each cookie baked,
each moment spent with
lives so full of
it was

It all began with an assignment;
with letters and numbers and
It started out as "You have to."
But slowly it began to change.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Scrabble of Life

I have noticed when I play scrabble that the words people come up with sometimes give hints to their lives. Words they have come across or things that have happened along the way tend to show up on the board. I think it's a great way to explore someone's mind.

Seven square tiles invoke
images that span decades. Rats
running across kitchen counters, aces
thrown down to win the hand. Kids
whining in the back seat, "Are we there yet?"
asked a thousand times.

Coolant leeking on the driveway,
pesky rabbits eating
the garden vegetables. Ragen
sitting on the porch swing,
waiting for the sun to fall

Riotors in the streets,
this war must end. Planes
flying over head, bombs
on their way to kill. Ragen
sitting in his yert, waiting
gun in hand.

-Meghan April 22, 2009

Thursday, April 16, 2009

My Experience

I felt inspired by the residents of Summerville and this is my reflection on my experience there.


Early morning, breakfast tables
full of conversations and laughter.
Exercise hour. Rosary hour; events
laid out every day, like a pretty outfit.
Keep them active, keep them happy,
keep them smiling and friendly.

Couples still by each other's side for half a
Century and more. Residents who cannot remember
their last meal, but who still love everything.
At night, we discover, they keep demons.
Sundowners, a syndrome unknown to me
affects these lovely women in their
aged years of perfection.

Painting nails with fresh coats of nail lacquer.
File it shorter. No nail clippers,
just chemicals and shades of pink. We speak
of upcoming movies and the oncoming Twilight.

Playing cards for nickels, baking
chocolate chip cookies that stink up
the entire second floor. A stench, that makes my mouth
water for more.

Laid back, open, and willing to speak of
the good times they've had. What more
could I ask for in an experience here at Summerville.
We share personal tidbits of information,
talking of origins and past jobs, relationships,
pets and experiences.

At the end of the day, when the sun sets,
and the demons come out to play,
they may not remember me, but they
have left a lasting impression in my memory;
forever to cherish, forever to reflect, forever to grow.

--Stephanie S.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Grandma's House

This poem was inspired by the ladies at summerville. They remind of the times I spent with my own grandmother. It starts out happy, ends sadly.

The cookies baking awakening
my nose, eyes watching
a card game I'll never understand.
The word search in the background,
waiting for the last card to be played.

My mind cannot distiguish
past from present. It thinks
its back at Grandma's house, searching
for her face forgetting
she is gone.

- meghan

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Talking For Her

This is a poem based on the talk that we all had with Leroy and Mary last week. I haven't had the sign-in information so far, but now that I have it I can post. Yay! Enjoy!

Talking For Her

I think, if she remembered,
she would remember everything he said.
She would remember the railroads
and the moving trucks.
She would remember the barking dogs in
the backyards of houses and the sounds
of her children

I think, if she remembered,
she would tell the same story
while holding his hand
and smiling.
For fifty-six years they lived
the same story
and never once deferred.

I think, if she remembered,
she would call him Papa Smurf,
like they did on the railroad.
She would remember, as he does,
the three years
eight months and
twenty-seven days
they were apart.

I think, if she remembered,
she would remember the day
they met at a funeral
and began a new life from
the one that passed away.

- Sharon Winter

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Leroy and Mary

Leroy and Mary's relationship goes beyond the meaning of commitment. It's the stuff young lovers dream of, the "I'll love you til' death do us part." Their story begins at a funeral, joy from sadness. And now as she loses her memory he tries to hold on for her.

I found you amoung the dead.
Flesh full of life, I grabbed hold.
Like lobsters mating
for life, we spent ours enduring
winds and floods of marriage.

The memories we fought
to make, you now forget.
The glimmer once in your eye,
now flickers, the dark
brighter than the light.

Meghan Leary

Leroy and Mary

Today, Sharon, Meghan and I went to Summerville and spoke with Leroy and Mary, a couple at the nursing home. Mary is a dementia patient who lives at the nursing home and Leroy lives in Sanford with his daughter. He drives every day to the nursing home and spends the day with Mary. They have been married for a whopping 56 years! We spoke to them about their history, and I wrote this poem about how they met.

Find Love in Death

Surrounded in black, shrouded
in dark shadows caused by hundred year old trees,
I take her hand in mine.
It is soft and pure
and it contours to mine.
We weave in and out of
forest trees and shrubbery until
we stumble upon our destination.
A graveyard nestled in the throes
of swamp water and mud. She grips
my hand tighter, harder
and her bare palm sweats.
As we bid farewell, I whisper, "See you soon."

--Stephanie S.