Denise Morris

THE FACE OF PARKINSON'S

I noticed him from across the room.
Handsome. Frail. Thinning grey hair.
His pressed oxford shirt tucked
neatly beneath his cardigan.

At first glance I sensed he was well loved.
His face was without expression,
except the kindness in his eyes,
which seemed to radiate from deep within him.

The room bustled, alive with people,
greeting, laughing, touching,
engaged in the everydayness of life.
He sat quietly, waiting to be noticed,

to be invited into the ordinary sharing.
But his very being was obscured
by the rhythmic shaking of his body,
such a deafening announcement

of his brokenness, that no one stopped to listen.
To really see this man, one must look at him
and in their discomfort,
those around him looked away.

I watched as he fumbled with his coffee cup,
squeezed awkwardly between clumsy his fingers,
a tenuous balancing act that was all to familiar to me.
For awhile, I too sat quietly, visible yet invisible.

My shaking not yet obvious to others,
was inside quite notable to me.
My brokenness a quiet version
of his own.

Denise Morris, a 47 year old woman from Fargo, North Dakota, only recently began to write poetry. Since being diagnosed with Young Onset Parkinson's Disease she has given up her career as a social worker and now enjoys time for painting writing and many other interests. She has three beautiful young adult children.