The Butterfly

Its wings are the same color as the clear sky at noon.
You told me it was a Blue Morpho,
And instantly it became my favorite.
Morpho peleides according to the book.
You got me that picture of them at the museum,
Framed in a dull silver and shiny chrome.
But now I watch as you slide into a world of past memories,
You've forgotten what I look like now,
Alzheimer's, according to the doctor.
So now when I say I'm your Granddaughter,
You just look at me with glassy eyes.
I've put the picture in front of your bed,
So now every time I come in,
You point and say
"You see those, Elinor?  Those are called Blue Morphos."
And I just smile, because that's one memory that neither of us have lost yet.