Concrete Poetry
   of Modern Love

   Long before her diagnosis, my   reliably  cheerful friend turned   sour. Even our   most    mundane   conversations   became  contentious. Pessimism and frustration   darkened    her world.    Eventually, as   words eluded  her   and her thinking  grew disorganized,   the diagnosis came:   early  dementia.   Terrifying,  yes,   but  naming  her condition
 set   her  free. Her    joy   returned  in  force.
  Now,  when   I visit  her   in  her assisted-living  apartment, a  smile   lights  her  face. Complex
    sentences are out of her reach.  Instead, she   pours   out    pure love —   telling  me I’m  wonderful,  beautiful   and smart.    Her   son   says   her  happiness  lasts  for    hours  after   our  visits.  —  Elise Gibson