Samantha Lemmerman is a Creative Writing Senior at SMSU.


In my dreams she walks. Without a nurse. Without a walker. Sometimes with a cane. But, she walks without shaking. Her hair is permed and only starting to gray.  Her eyes are not glazed over, not searching for an answer, not waiting for someone to find the right word for her.  She laughs, swatting at me until I laugh. She plays whist, swearing at my uncle, her son, because they missed a play. She makes egg salad for me after school, while I watch Nickelodeon cartoons. But in my dreams, in those damn dreams, she is two sides of a coin. Sometimes, she’s in a sterilized bed. Tubes string her to monitors; she’s a prisoner of medicine. Skin hangs from her aged bones. And her eyes don’t hardly open anymore, but when they do, they are glazed and milky. Her hands shake enough that she cannot hold a glass to drink from. Her brain has slowed her down, she hardly eats. And in every aspect, the disease stole her from me.

Copyright 2014 Samantha Lemmerman

title photography by Amber Casperson