Friday, October 8, 2021

Pieces of His Story

The first time it happened
He was only confused,
Confused about being

So inexplicably
And perfectly confused.
He stood in the market

Parking lot with his cart,
Knowing his groceries
Were paid for, forgetting

How he had reached that spot.
At the bank he forgot
His ATM password.

Driving home, the main roads
Seemed normal, familiar,
But in his neighborhood

He couldn’t remember
His exact street, its name,
Or his address number.

He drove around until
He recognized his house.
He knew he was missing

Pieces of his story,
Like a book with missing
Pages he hadn’t known

Had fallen out until
That puzzlement about
How everything just jumped.

It lingered. The next day,
He still couldn’t recall
The date—not month or year—

And he mistook pine cones
On the lawn for berries,
As he said to his wife—

Where did all those berries
Come from? And she replied,
What berries? And he knew

He had made a mistake,
Although they still looked like
Berries to him, a while.

He was fine years and years
After that. Time to time,
Nonetheless, it came back.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.